Reckless
by mappietaffy
Summary: "You wanna be reckless, Isaac? Let's be a little reckless." Isaac/OC.
1. Exploring

A/N: So this is what happens when my Isaac/Daniel feelings explode all over my word documents. I just have a lot of feels, okay? There aren't enough fanfics for Isaac out there so I decided to take things into my own hands. I haven't written fanfiction in awhile; in fact, this is my first time writing Teen Wolf fan fiction and I'm not a completely obsessed Teen Wolf fan. Don't get me wrong, I freaking love the show and if It ever gets cancelled I will most definitely cry, but if I get the color of Scott's house wrong, don't judge me, okay? Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story. It's set in Season two. This chapter occurs right before 205 "Venomous." You would have figured that out later, but I thought it would be easier and would make more sense to you if you knew that now. I'm going to stop rambling now and let you read the story.

I don't even know why people bother with disclaimers on a site called "Fanfiction", but hey, why the hell not?

_disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or anything affiliated with Teen Wolf. In case that wasn't obvious enough. _

I bet Jeff Davis would write fan fiction on this website just so he can say in his disclaimer that he fricking does own teen wolf, because I would do that. Jeff and I are twins.

Rated M for language. Sorry to disappoint. You don't want to read my horrid smut anyways. Trust me on that one.

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She had thought that the next time she would see Beacon Hills, she would be happier to return to her hometown. She gazed out the window shield, her eyes drifting to things other than the paved road. She remembered the small town better than she thought she would. The trees, the middle school, the town–it all looked the same. She probably would have been much happier to see the town if the circumstances surrounding her return weren't so unfortunate.

She took a quick left turn, cutting her reminiscence short. She stopped the car in front of a small, but nice house. She cut the engine and took a deep breath as she held the key in her hand. It was too late to go back in time, but it wasn't too late to run away. It wasn't too late to go to a new town and find a different family. Before she could begin to run away, she heard a tapping on her window. It was light, but she still jumped in her seat. Hands shaking she turned towards the window and saw the face of her mother-lightly smiling, in the same bittersweet way she always had when something went wrong. She returned the bittersweet smile and opened the door as her mother stepped away from the car door. She shut the door and stared at her mother. She looked much older than she had before. Her blonde hair was graying lightly at her hairline and her roots were turning dark. She had more wrinkles around her eyes, but she still looked like her mother. She brought her daughter into an embrace, her eyes glistening slightly. She stiffened, but soon relaxed into the hug. It felt good to know someone was there for her still. "It's good to see you, Clare," her mother said, still hugging her daughter.

"You too, mom," Clare replied, feeling a few of her own tears lingering on the edge of her eyelids. She hugged her mother tighter in hopes that it would help her keep herself under control. She didn't want to cry anymore. She had cried so much in the past two weeks, she felt like if she cried anymore she would never cry again. She could only hope.

They pulled back from each other. Clare had wiped her eyes, but her mother was weeping freely. Clare wished she wouldn't. It only made her want to cry more. Her mother, who had been quietly smiling at her daughter, suddenly shuddered and laughed slightly. "Enough crying!" she exclaimed, "Let's get you moved in." Clare nodded at her mother.

A few trips up the porch steps and the stairs, and Clare was moved back into her old room. Her mother was helping her unpack. Everything had been left exactly as it was when she was a little girl. It didn't exactly work for her anymore. With the green floral bedspread and the obnoxiously bright green butterfly wallpaper, it all felt very juvenile. She didn't mind as much as she thought she would. It was nice to feel like a kid again. She was happy then. She was carefree then.

"Alright," her mother said as she put away the last piece of folded clothing into the off-white dresser. "Looks like that's everything," she said, folding her hands in front of her. Clare sat on the edge of her bed and smiled lightly.

"Yup," Clare said with a sigh. "Thanks for the help, Mom," she said. Her mother nodded, wiping her hands awkwardly against her jeans. It was all very awkward. There hadn't been much talking when they were moving Clare back in. Neither really seemed to know what to say. The fakeness of whole thing really bothered her, but she didn't know how to be real with someone she hadn't seen in five years.

"Are you hungry?" her mother asked after a few moments of silence. Clare shrugged.

"A little," she admitted softly. Clare wasn't normally this soft-spoken. She usually couldn't stop herself from talking someone's ear off. But a lot of things had changed the past two weeks.

"I'll make something," her mother said warmly. "Why don't you go out and explore?" she suggested. "I'm sure you'd like to explore a little." She was right. Clare loved to explore. She had always been an adventurer. She had always been inquisitive and curious. Clare couldn't deny she was curious about a very specific something, or rather, a very specific someone.

She had thought about it for a moment before she answered. "Yes," she said decidedly, "I would like that." She smiled that same light smile at her mother before getting up. "I'll be back in an hour or so?" she asked. Her mother nodded.

"That's fine, Honey," she said. Clare smiled and went to walk past her, but her mother stopped her and once again enveloped her daughter in a hug. "I'm really sorry Clare," she said, sounding as if she might cry again. Clare wrapped her arms around her mother's waist.

"Mom, it's not your fault," Clare said. God she hated this. She hated crying. She hated the guilt. After all, they were both at fault. Clare didn't blame her mother, but she definitely blamed herself. It seemed that her mother felt the same. She pulled back. "I love you, okay?" she said, looking into her mother's watery eyes. She nodded. Clare gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see you in a hour," she told her. She nodded again. She kissed Clare on the cheek and smiled. They stepped away from each other and Clare grabbed her purse. She walked out of the house and shut the door behind her. She took a big breath of air, feeling like she could finally relax. She loved her mom, but she just needed to clear her head. There was too much going on, too many emotions flowing through her. She just wanted to forget everything and be herself again.

That was why she decided to walk. Her destination wasn't that far anyway. She left her silver Honda civic behind and strolled down the sidewalk. It was a warm Saturday Afternoon in Mid March. It was rare that a warm day occurred in March in Beacon Hills. She felt the warmth of the sun on her skin despite the clouds. It was a little chilly, but she had always been accustomed to the cold. She breathed in the fresh smell of the pine trees and didn't miss the city. It was such a contrast from Philadelphia. She would readily admit that Beacon Hills was superior. Hands in her pockets, she walked along the sidewalk, paying attention to the street signs, hoping she could remember the way. She came upon a street called "Bleu" and felt that this was the correct one. She turned onto it and after a few short minutes of walking she was standing in front of his house. She wasn't sure exactly what she would say. She wasn't sure he would even speak to her. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't. She had cut all ties when she left. Not by choice, but it wouldn't have been smart of her to attempt to stay in touch with her old friends. They would have just stopped talking anyway. In fact, maybe it was better this way. Maybe they could start over this way.

Before she even realized what had happened, she was standing on his porch, knuckles against the door. She knocked. There came no answer. She moved over to look into the windows. The house was dark, but she could see the remnants of what had been her best friends house. Everything seemed to trashed and torn. Pieces of glass and debris scattered the hardwood floor. She began to panic. What had happened? Where did he go?

Clare stepped away from the house and looked around. After a moment she spotted a figure across the street. She cocked her head and squinted at the man. She stepped off the porch and walked towards him. Was that–no it couldn't be–"Jackson?" she called out to him as he stood next to his Porsche. It looked like he was going somewhere. She was in the middle of the street by the time he lifted his head to look at her. He seemed annoyed by her presence and sized her up, looking at her up and down. He didn't say anything for a moment as he too squinted in confusion. "Clare? Clare Lane? What are you doing here?" He said out of confusion.

She wasn't particularly fond of his tone, but she answered him nonetheless. "I was looking for–" she began, but Jackson cut her off.

"You're looking for Lahey, huh?" Jackson said with a spiteful laugh. "You two were always little freaky friends," Jackson said it with another laugh. Clare narrowed her eyes. She had become unaccustomed to Jackson's personality since the years had passed, but she was beginning to remember he was always this unpleasant. "Sorry, but Isaac Lahey doesn't live here anymore," he said with a shrug.

Clare furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean? Where did he go?" she persisted, but Jackson seemed bored with the conversation. He rolled his eyes and stepped into his car, ignoring her. Her eyes narrowed. She stomped towards his car door and knocked on his window. He reluctantly rolled it down.

"Watch the glass, okay? I just had it cleaned," he scolded. "Look, it's a long story that I don't have time for. Why not ask a loser who has more time on their hands? Try Stilinski. God knows he's not doing anything on Saturday night," Jackson rushed, beginning to back up his car before Clare could get a word in. He skidded away, leaving Clare alone in his driveway, fuming. That wasn't exactly how she had wanted to be greeted back into Beacon Hills.

After a moment of picturing Jackson Whittemore lying on the floor with broken nose, she decided she would take up his offer and go see Stiles. He would have been her second stop anyway. She wished Jackson was a kinder person and had offered her a ride, but alas he was not. Stiles' house was too far for her to walk there, so she would have to return to her car. She figured she would have time if she walked. It had only been about twenty minutes. She was less concerned about time and more about whether all of her friends had up and disappeared or if that was only Isaac. Perhaps the town had changed more than she thought.

Her walk back to the car was less enjoyable. She had taken a wrong turn somewhere and had been lost for much longer than she should have been gone. Her mother was probably worried about her. It was starting to get dark, and if she was being honest, Clare was starting to worry about herself. She supposed that Beacon Hills still had its "mountain lion" problem. She wasn't very keen on running into one of those on her walk home.

The sun was about to set when she seemed to magically appear on her street. She had never been more grateful about small towns' streets that went in circles. Walking up the porch steps she placed a hand on the door handle and looked towards the street with a disappointed sigh. She had really wanted to see some of her friends that afternoon. She just wanted to laugh again and be around people that made her forget what a terrible two weeks it had been. But she looked away from the street and stepped into the warmth of her house.

Immediately her nostrils filled with the sweet smell of mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, and asparagus. She thought she also smelled a hint of her mother's famous peanut butter and chocolate cake that Clare so adored. She was overwhelmed by the smell. It reminded her of this home and all the memories she had in it. Her mother making them delicious dinners, playing hide and seek with her friends, playing catch with her dad in the backyard–Clare stopped the rush of memories abruptly. She kicked off her converse and walked into the kitchen with a smile on her face. Her mother, clad in the floral patterned apron Clare had sent her for her birthday two years previously, was plating the dinner Clare had smelled onto bright blue ceramic plates. She looked up at Clare as she finished placing the asparagus. "Hey, Honey," she said warmly as she went to retrieve the pot of potatoes. "How was your walk?" she asked as she plopped scoops of potatoes onto both plates.

Clare shrugged as she seated herself at the counter. "It was alright," She admitted. "I was hoping to see more of my friends," she finished, as her mother placed her dinner plate in front of her. Clare muttered a 'thanks' to her mother. "I guess things have changed here," she said, looking up at her mother. This statement seemed more meaningful than how it appeared. Her mother attempted to read her teenage daughters' face for the deeper meaning, but she quickly averted her eyes, not wanting to address what her daughter was asking. She shrugged and stayed silent.

Nina Lane was many things. She was kind and thoughtful. She was always worried about things. She thought of others sinfully more than herself. She was a great cook. She was a great mother. But she had her secrets and things that she didn't like even her daughter to know. Unfortunately, one thing that Nina Lane was not: a liar. So, many years ago when her daughter had gotten involved in these secrets that Nina hadn't wanted to share, she didn't lie to her daughter. She told Clare the whole story and it wasn't long after that Clare and her father disappeared. Nina didn't want to lie to her daughter, but she had learned her lesson five years earlier to keep her secrets within herself.

There was little conversation after this. It seemed that neither Clare nor Nina wanted to discuss the changes that had occurred since Clare's last visit. Nina didn't have the heart to tell her daughter what had happened to her friends Scott and Isaac. She couldn't force herself to load on anymore emotional baggage on Clare. They made small talk through dinner and dessert, which Clare very much enjoyed. She didn't expect to reconnect with her mother immediately, but the home cooked meal and her favorite dessert was enough to set her more at ease.

She helped her mother wash up and then she swiftly went to bed. After her walk, the jet lag was catching up to her. She curled up in her girlish floral sheets and slept soundly until noon the next day. When she awoke, she found a note from her mother on her bedside table. It read: _Went to the restaurant this morning will be back at 5. Breakfast's in the fridge. Love, Mom (:_ Clare yawned as she set the note down and got up out of bed. Stretching, she realized she had slept in her clothes. She changed into a new pair of light wash jeans and a tee shirt. She tied her hair up in a messy topknot before venturing downstairs to eat her breakfast.

Stepping down the stairs and into the kitchen, her hand flew to the fridge. Opening it she saw a plate of cooked ham, French toast, and assorted fruits. With a smile she took out the plate and placed it in the microwave for 30 seconds before chowing down. Her mother was really too good to her. Food may have been the way to a man's heart, but Clare would never leave if her mother continued to make her such great meals. Clare was sure the meals would get more infrequent as time went on. Her mother was a busy woman.

As she finished her breakfast, Clare decided that she would go see Stiles that afternoon. She was really desperate for some company and a familiar face. She hoped at least Stiles hadn't changed. If Jackson was any indication, she was sure he hadn't. She really hoped he would know something about Isaac. She was dying to see him. Stiles and Scott had always been her friends, but Isaac was always her best friend. She hadn't spoken to any of them since she had left, but she was so anxious about Isaac, he was really at the top of her priorities list. She had to know if he was all right. Her mind began to wander to "mountain lions" and people who killed "mountain lions." She only hoped that Isaac hadn't been a casualty in the quiet war that had been waging last time she was in Beacon Hills. She was sure that wasn't that case. He must have just moved or something.

Clare cleaned her dish, brushed her teeth, threw on some shoes, and grabbed her keys. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out. Her dirty blonde hair was quite a mess, but she looked rested; not even a hint of a dark circle was underneath her green eyes. Her freckles, as obvious as they had always been, still bothered her, but she decided that Stiles wouldn't mind her appearance. Stiles had never been the type to worry much about appearances. It was something he always hoped Lydia Martin would look past. Clare wondered if she ever had.

Moments later, Clare was seated in her car, trying to remember the way to Stiles' house. She trusted herself to find it and not get lost, so she started the engine and followed her instincts. It was different remembering the way to his house from a car instead of a bike, but after about twenty minutes, Clare found Stiles' house.

Parked outside was a faded light blue Jeep that Clare could only hope was Stiles'. It seemed like that kind of car he would drive. In fact, as she parked her car on the side of the street and stepped out, she decided it would have been odd to see the hyperactive boy driving anything but the quirky blue Jeep that matched him so nicely.

Her nerves had begun to rise as she stepped out of the car. What if her didn't remember her? Jackson barely did. Clare had been gone for such a long time and she hadn't spoken to any of her friends. She then started to wonder whether Stiles would even want to talk to her. She hadn't thought of that. She should have contacted them no matter what her dad said. She didn't want Stiles to reject her and send her away. She just couldn't take that after all that she'd been through. Her heart was beating quickly. She was astonished at how nervous she was. She didn't like being this way. She hoped nervous, quiet Clare was only a temporary version of herself and that it would fade as time passed. She didn't want to be like this forever. She hoped Stiles could pull her old self out of this shell encasing it.

Clare had made it up the porch when she gave a hesitant knock on the wooden door. She heard a crash, and then footsteps, some grumbling, and a few moments later the door flew open to reveal a much older, taller, cuter Stiles Stilinski. She wanted to cry as she saw him, standing there in his loose jeans, white socks, and red plaid flannel. He was definitely the same Stiles she had left there in Beacon Hills. He looked at her for a moment before he seemed to recognize her. She stood there with a nervous smile on her face. She attempted to get out a 'Hey Stiles', but taller boy attacked her in a hug before she could speak.

"Clare!" he exclaimed. He immediately eased Clare. She hugged him back and tightly. It was so nice to see a familiar face. She smiled a true smile for the first time in two weeks. After a few moments he pulled back and held her by the shoulders at arms length. He looked at her up and down, a smile lingering on his face. "Well look at you, pulling off the disheveled teenager look with adorable ease," he said with a chuckle.

"Have been since 2006," she said with a grin. He laughed at her before practically pulling her into his house. She noticed a stack of books on the ground in the living room. She guessed that was the crash she heard. Stiles led her into the living room, picking up the stack of books off the ground. Clare noticed that among them was a book entitled _Criaturas, _an old yearbook, and a chem. book. She sat herself down on his couch as he placed the stack on the table. He looked at her, noticing her raised eyebrow paired with an inquisitive smirk. Stiles laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm as graceful as ever!" he said, referring to his knocking down of the stack. Clare laughed at him. Stiles then took a seat across from her in a faded blue armchair.

"So tell me, where has Clare Lane been the past five years?" he asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs.

Clare shrugged the question off. She had been expecting this when she saw her old friends. She had been expecting them to ask questions and wonder where the hell she had been. Some of them probably thought she died. This didn't make her anymore eager to answer these questions. She didn't want to talk about why she left or her dad, she just wanted to hear about their lives and do some mindless lacrosse playing like they used to.

"Philadelphia. It was really boring. Like, if you multiplied the boringness of Beacon Hills by twenty," she replied. It was well known that Beacon Hills was a sleepy town when "mountain lions" weren't running amuck. Being that her mother was still in one piece, she assumed things had quieted down.

Stiles' face had a hint of guilt as he shrugged and pursed his lips. "I mean–you know–its been SUPER boring. Like you shoulda' been here, Clare. Like there was definitely NO drama since you've been gone," Stiles stumbled out, his face betraying him. Stiles had never been a very good liar.

Clare laughed. "Sure," she dragged on. "What drama have I missed?" Clare asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

Stiles blew a puff of air out of his mouth as he shrugged, racking his brain for something other than what had been actually happening. "Scott!" he said suddenly, more suddenly than he had wanted to. "Scott got this girlfriend Allison," Stiles said, smiling as if he was pleased with himself. "They're like, crazy 'in love'," Stiles said, using a crafty coupling of air quotations and an eye roll. "And there there's Jackson and Lydia," Stiles said this with bitterness.

"Still obsessed with Lydia?" Clare had to laugh. She should have known that Stiles would never change. Stiles frowned and pointed a warning finger at her as he sat up slightly.

"I resent that!" he exclaimed before continuing. "And then Erica and Isaac–" Clare stopped him.

"Wait, where's Isaac? Do him and Erica have a thing now?" Clare couldn't stop herself from interrupting him. Her desperation to see if Isaac was okay overflowed as Stiles said his name. He seemed taken aback by her sudden interjection. "I mean not that I care," she muttered, relaxing a little.

"I–umm, well," Stiles started, gathering himself. He shifted in the chair and looked at Clare softly now. Stiles of all people knew how close her and Isaac had been. Stiles uncrossed his legs and rested his hands in between them, leaning forward. "Well, you see, Isaac's had a rough couple of weeks."

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A/N: Commenters get cupcakes!

- Dani


	2. Rekindling

A/N: Couple things: Teen Wolf's timeline is a bitch. I researched this thing and tried to figure it out and it's obnoxious. I have this thing about accuracy and perfection and yeah. It's a thing I do. Anyway, the point is that _instead of it being late April, I changed chapter 1 for it to be early-mid March. _I'm trying to get everything matched up with Season Two as accurately as I can, so I decided to change that detail. The other thing is, things go really fast on Teen Wolf, well according to the timelines I've found. So, I think I'm going to drag it out a little bit more. Instead of a couple days between episodes it'll be like four. Anyway, I'll try to make it less confusing than the Teen Wolf writers have made it (gotta love those writers). You don't care about this. Go read the story.

One more thing! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS. You guys, this means so much. It makes me unbelievably happy that people like this stuff. I'm just :') Yeah ok. Go read. Thanks again.

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"Actually," Stiles began, "Isaac's had it pretty rough since you left." Clare's face visibly fell. She felt really bad now. About a million worst case scenarios ran through her head. She started to see things from Isaac's point of view. How it must have felt to have your best friend up and leave and not tell you a single thing. Clare couldn't imagine. She felt like a terrible person. She _was _a terrible person. Stiles seemed to notice this reaction, so he very quickly corrected himself. "I mean, it wasn't your fault, Clare," he reassured her, flailing his hands around in the animated way he always spoke. She looked at him skeptically. "Ahhh," he said. "I shouldn't have said that," Stiles spoke, shifting in the chair again. "It wasn't–" Stiles stopped himself and settled down a little before continuing. "It was just a coincidental thing, you know?" Stiles assured her. "It wasn't like you left and then Bam–" Stiles clapped his hands together and threw them apart for visual effect. "–Isaac's life turned to shit," Stiles told her. "It was just, we all kinda stopped talking for awhile–Just grew apart–and I guess Isaac's brother died–" Clare interrupted him again.

"Wait, Camden's dead?" She asked him, shocked. Stiles nodded. Clare couldn't believe it. Camden was about eight years older than all of them, but Clare remembered him well. He was always pretty nice to them. Isaac adored him. Isaac really looked up to Camden, his dad too. Isaac always seemed to be trying to find someone to look up to, Clare remembered.

"Yeah, we found out he died in combat a few years back," Stiles continued. He rested his head on his closed fist for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows. "Now that I think about it, I can't believe I didn't hear about it until this year," he mused. He looked back towards her. "Small town and all," he finished. "But yeah, then we found out his dad was abusing him," he explained. Clare's eyes widened. "And then his dad was murdered like two weeks ago," Stiles continued. Clare's eyes widened even more, if that was possible. "The issue with that is that Isaac is a suspect for the murder–"

Clare couldn't tell why, but she was deeply offended by this accusation. "Isaac wouldn't do that," She asserted, furrowing her eyebrows. Clare wouldn't know why Stiles would think otherwise. He knew Isaac. Isaac wouldn't hurt anyone. Stiles face showed signs that he felt differently, but he didn't directly respond. Stiles wasn't a huge fan of Isaac lately. In fact, Isaac was becoming quite the problem for him. He was turning into a mini version of Derek and if he were to be frank, he wasn't so thrilled at the idea of Clare spending time with him. He wasn't going to say that. He didn't want to upset her. Plus, he couldn't really explain exactly _why_ Isaac could be capable of murder, because, well, that was a long story in itself.

"Yeah, exactly, but he was being held, because he was a suspect and all, but he got out," Stiles paused. Clare didn't like where this was going. "And now nobody knows where he is. He's just running around somewhere, being a fugitive, hoping they find the real murderer I guess," Stiles shrugged and leaned back again, a signal that this was the end of his story. Clare couldn't believe what Stiles had told her. Isaac–a fugitive? Those words should never be in the same sentence.

"I–Wow," was all she could manage to say. Stiles' eyes widened as he nodded, blowing out another puff of air.

"Pfft, yeah. You're telling me," he rolled his eyes lightly, which earned a laugh from Clare. "I don't have time for this tomfoolery," Stiles said in an unimpressed tone. "I've got a midterm this week," Stiles said sarcastically, at which they both laughed. Clare rolled her eyes. Stiles had always been a straight-A student, something she had always been envious of, but they both knew Stiles resented his intelligence at times. He had been this way since middle school when it wasn't cool for kids to be smart anymore. Stiles, with his limited wardrobe and his intelligence, was written off as a nerd. Clare thought the rest of Beacon Hills was missing out. Clare loved Stiles' wit and his intelligence. It was what made him so much fun to hang out with.

"Seriously though, ClareBear," Stiles couldn't hid his grin as he said his favorite nickname for his long-time friend. Clare burst out laughing.

"Really?" She asked Stiles, a grin on her face. "You're pulling that old thing off the shelf?" She shook her head at him. He laughed at her.

"Hey!" he said, attempting to sound serious, but his wide grin was undeniable. "You know you love that nickname," Stiles insisted as Clare shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips.

"No, I could just never get you to _stop_ calling me by it," she reminded him. With a shrug she said, "I just eventually gave up." He grinned, a sign that he was proud of himself. She threw a couch pillow at him in defiance. Both of them laughing as he tossed it back at her. "You still throw like a girl, I see," Clare observed with a cheeky grin. Stiles crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

"Hey now, I'm on the lacrosse team," he defended, point a finger at her. "Pfft," he breathed with an eye roll. "And I've played like," he took a moment to count on his fingers, "a grand total of ZERO games," he said completely resentful and shocked by this reality.

Clare laughed at him and frowned sarcastically. She stood from the couch and walked up to him, patting the shorthaired brunette on the head. "Poor baby," she said sarcastically before walking in the direction of his backyard. She could see the sliding glass door that led to the small, fenced in backyard. Covered in browning green grass, Clare, Stiles, Scott, and even Isaac at times, had spent many wonderful afternoons messing around in that backyard.

Stiles stood up as he saw Clare walking away. "Where are you going?" he asked, following her. Clare turned and smiled wickedly at him. Stiles stepped back slightly, eyes wide. "Clare Lane, I'm now remembering how positively terrifying you are," Stiles said, sounding genuinely afraid of her. Clare laughed at him. It felt so good to laugh.

"Grab your pads, Stilinski," Clare said, pulling the sliding glass open and stepping through. She looked back at him with a grin. "You're gonna need 'em." Stiles watched her walk into the backyard with a nervous laugh.

"Y-you're kidding, right?" Stiles called, his voice breaking slightly. He began following her into the yard. Stiles yelled at her again anxiously, "Clare? Clare?!" She only laughed.

Stiles and Clare spent the afternoon playing the lacrosse in Stiles' backyard. It was a nice way to take Clare's mind off of Isaac. She was really worried about him now, but Stiles jokes and his overall lack of coordination distracted. Clare discovered that the two years she had spent on the girls' lacrosse team in Philadelphia had given her quite the upper hand against Stiles. He wasn't that bad. His accuracy was spotty at best, but his shots were hard. Clare didn't understand why he hadn't played a single game.

As it got later, it also got colder, so Stiles and Clare eventually went back inside. Not long after this did Clare decide to head back home. It was around 4 when Clare left the Stilinski house. Clare gave Stiles a hug goodbye. "It was so good to see you, kid," Stiles said with a laugh as they pulled apart. Clare smiled.

"You too," she replied, stepping away and heading down his porch steps.

"Will I see you at school tomorrow?" Stiles called after her from the door. Clare turned and nodded with a smile. She waved at him as she got into her car. He returned the wave as she drove away back to her house.

School. She forgot she had that the next day. She was glad she had gotten to see Stiles that day. School would not have been very enjoyable had she not had some time to reconnect with at least one friend. She hoped she would be able to do the same with Scott. Despite the fact the she now knew she would have at least one friend tomorrow at school, she was still dreading returning to it. She never liked school. She wasn't good at it. She was social enough, but it just wasn't worth it for her to go to school to see friends when she hated the actual school part of it so much. She had to work hard to get B's in her hard classes and she just wasn't willing to work hard right then. She just wished it was summer vacation and she had a whole three months to ease back into high school. She really needed it.

Twenty minutes of mulling over school later and she was parked in her previous spot in front of her house. Her mother's car wasn't in the driveway so she must not have been home. Clare realized she should have locked the door when she left, but was glad she didn't considering she didn't have a key. She would have to remind her mother to give her one later.

Clare entered the house and slammed the door behind her. She realized how exhausted she was. Running around with Stiles was a lot more activity than she had had in the past two weeks. Deciding she had gotten enough exercise for the day, she plopped down on the couch and sat watching TV for awhile. She was flipping through channels, trying to find something interesting. When all hope was lost she stuck in on a Women's NCAA lacrosse game. She wasn't really paying attention. Her mind still lingered on Isaac's whereabouts. She just couldn't believe how much had happened since she was last there.

She had been "watching" the game for some time before she became aware of the sun setting outside. More time had passed than she had thought. Looking up at the clock on the opposite wall she saw that it was already 6:15. Her mom should have been home by then. Clare bit her lip in contemplation. It was silly of her to worry. She supposed it was an inherited trait. After a moment, she decided she would call her Mom and make sure she was alright. Just in case.

Standing from the couch Clare walked into the kitchen and pulled the cordless phone from its base. She punched in the seven-digit number and listened as it rang. She picked up after two rings. "Hello?" Nina asked into her phone.

"Hey, Mom. It's Clare," Clare said into the phone, leaning against the counter.

"Oh! Sweetie, Hi! Sorry, I didn't call you! I should have let you know–" Clare stopped her before she went off in a long spiel of apologies.

"Don't worry about it," Clare said. "I just wanted to make sure nothing had happened–" it was her mother's turn to cut her off.

"Oh, no worries. I just got stuck in the kitchen. We had a bit of a dinner rush right before I was about to head out so I stayed behind," Nina explained.

"Oh, okay," Clare said, fiddling with the string on her sweatshirt.

"Anyway, I'll be home in an hour or so...I'll bring dinner home," Her mother told her. Clare heard a crash in the background. "Oh dear," she said. "I better go. I'll see you at home!" Nina hung up before Clare could respond. With a sigh she hung up the phone and returned it to its base. She herself returned to her seat on the couch and continued her uneventful night.

About a half an hour from the end of her phone call, something odd did happen. The lights flickered. Then they flickered once more. The third time, the lights and the TV shut off. The house went completely dark. "Are you serious," Clare moaned. She wasn't in the mood for a horror movie scenario. She sat there in the dark for a moment, defying the damn electricity. Eyes narrowed she stood from the couch with a sigh. The electricity had won and she would go turn it back on because she wasn't too excited about sitting in the dark for the next hour. She would just go into the basement and flip the circuits until the power came back on. She figured that would work.

She attempted to move about in the dark for about five minutes before she scavenged for a flashlight. She eventually found one in a kitchen drawer, thankful that her mother hadn't moved anything around too much. It was much easier for her to get into the basement then. The bluish light of the flashlight led her down the hallway and through the basement door. The light was starting to fade a little. She banged it around a little, trying to make the bulb burn brighter with no avail. She cursed the dying batteries but hoped they would last as she traveled down the wooden steps.

The Lanes' basement was not unlike other basements in many ways. If you ignored the crossbows and the guns, it was pretty normal. Shelves stocked with dusty boxes and the occasional spider littered the cluttered space. It was more organized and emptier than other basements she supposed, but she hadn't been in many basements. Clare tended to ignore the oddities of her family, the guns and crossbows included, or at least she tried to when possible. She liked to pretend that her family was just as normal as Jackson's or Scott's or Stiles'. Although, Clare noticed that there were a lot of abnormalities in Beacon Hills, her family being one of many.

After a few minutes of looking for the circuit box, Clare spotted it in the corner of the basement with her fading light. She walked up to it briskly. She wanted to get the lights turned back on. She wasn't that nervous about the dark, but she was irritated that she had to deal with the problem the day before she had to go back to school. It just wasn't something she wanted to mess with when she would already be facing enough stress.

Clare reached for the lock on the circuit box and tugged it open. As she touched the lock she found that something wet and sticky had been on it. "Ugh," Clare moaned flashing the light on her sticky hand to see the liquid. She made a disgusted face as she observed the clear, sticky substance. "Gross," she muttered, wiping the stuff off on her jeans, which she would wash later. Discarding the sticky lock Clare returned to the circuits. As she attempted to read the faded labels, she became very acutely aware of how quiet it was in that basement. She ran her tongue against the top of her teeth and tried to focus on the circuits.

Clare wasn't easily scared. She wasn't afraid of the dark, not even a little, but she was getting a little anxious about being alone in the dark basement. It was perpetually quiet. Expect for the light of her flashlight, the room was pitch black. Her fingers were beginning to lose their precision as she fiddled desperately with the switches. She squinted her eyes at the labels until she thought she found the right one. Her fingers weren't moving despite the fact that she told them to move. Her hand was over the circuit but it wasn't flipping it like she wanted it to. "What the hell," she muttered. She realized that she was losing control of not only her fingers, but the rest of her body. She couldn't feel her feet and the tingling sensation was quickly moving up her legs. The flashlight fell from her opposite hand as the other rested on the correct circuit. Clare began to panic. She tried once more to make her fingers push down the circuit. With a great amount of effort, she finally managed to flip the switch. As the lights turned on, Clare had lost her balance and tumbled to the ground.

An eerie green glow illuminated the basement. The fluorescent lights overhead drew sinister looking shadows on the floor and walls. Condemned helplessly to the dusty, dirty basement floor, she wanted to scream out for help. No one would have heard her even if she were physically able to yell. Her breaths were short and frequent. She didn't know what was happening or why she couldn't move. Her vision was blurry, but out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Her heart was pounding in her chest. It was the only sound she could hear. Moments later she heard footsteps, then came a low growl. She couldn't see what was moving; she could only hear its slow, steady breaths. Her body would have shaken with fear had she been able to move it. Then, with slow, snake like movements, a creature appeared into her blurry view. Scaled and yellow-eyed, it approached her. Clare tried to scream, but her vocal chords were rendered useless. Clare was able to slowly reach out her arm for the flashlight as the reptilian monster approached her, coming closer with each step. Her fingertips brushed the cylinder. It took another step. She reached farther for the flashlight and it took a second step. Finally, she grasped the flashlight and as the monster came closer, she was able to throw the flashlight at the beast. As the flashlight hit its leg, it let out an explosive roar. Clare stared at it in horror. Its thick layer of teeth barred at her. Just as it seemed it would rip into her flesh with those slimy sharp teeth it suddenly dashed from her paralyzed body and out of the basement.

Clare let out a few labored breaths. She didn't know what that thing was or why it hadn't ripped her to shreds, but she was grateful to be alive. Her heart was still beating rapidly in her chest. She lay there on the ground for a long time, but slowly she was able to stand and walk. It was difficult getting up the stairs because her body was still fighting off the paralysis. It didn't help that she was still shaking with fear from her encounter with the beast. She remembered what a shock it had been when she discovered werewolves were real, but now, she didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

As Clare reached the top of the stairs she realized that it was nearly 7:30. Her mother would be home any minute. Her extremities almost had their full range of motion back, but her right hand was still tingling. She decided that she didn't want to have a confrontation with her mother about what had happened. Her mother, as well intending as she may have been, was extremely over-protective. If Clare had told her what had happened that evening, she would probably never let her leave the house again. Clare decided that she would keep this to herself.

The climb up the stairs was easier this time. She found that she was in her bedroom rather quickly. She shut the door behind herself and started to take off her clothing. She threw her sweatshirt and jeans into her hamper and changed into a comfortable shirt and sweats. She left her hair alone as she walked into the bathroom to wash her teeth and face. Wiping her lips clean of toothpaste residue, she heard her mother enter the house and shut the door. Clare quickly shut off the bathroom and bedroom light and slipped under the covers. Desperate not to talk about her evening, Clare pretended to be asleep even when her mother came in to kiss her goodnight.

* * *

A/N: I know you guys are excited to see a badass Isaac returning to Beacon Hills. We get to meet him next chapter, woo!

Thanks again for all the reviews and follows. I'm so glad people are into my crap. :3

I also think we should start a prayer circle for Isaac so he doesn't die in "Motel California." Knowing Jeff, he probably will kill Isaac and Mama McCall and everyone else that I love. -ugly sobbing- Guys, I'm so scared.

-Dani


	3. Uncovering

A/N: "Motel California" was extremely emotionally stressful. God, I cried like three times, not including my full out sobbing at the end there. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, but, let's just say I want to beat that freezer up with a baseball bat and wrap Isaac up in a blanket of rainbows and cupcakes. Because honestly, that poor kid. But I guess that's not that different from every other Teen Wolf episode. I think the writers really get a kick out of putting Isaac in painful situations. Anyway, that episode was actually really good to help me get a feel for Isaac and his dad's relationship. Even though Isaac definitely acted different in season 2 _especially_ in "Venomous," I think he still has the same fears and mentality as Season 3 Isaac. Yay for character development!

I honestly can't thank you guys enough for all the positive feedback! I love writing, but knowing that people actually like it makes it that much better. :)

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Despite going to bed rather early the night before, Clare hadn't slept very soundly. Her dreams were filled with glimpses of that scaled creature she had encountered that night. She still wasn't sure if that whole thing had actually occurred. She didn't want it to be real, but her mind kept nudging her to believe in the impossible. After all, it had already been proven that at least some of the impossible existed right there in their supposedly sleepy small town.

As she was still sound asleep, Clare felt a voice tickle her ear. "Luney," the voice was soft, but not quite a whisper. She moaned, her eyelashes fluttering. "Clare," it sounded again. Clare moaned louder and she turned in her sleep. The owner of the voice latched onto her arm and said once more, "Clare!" Clare shot up out of bed with a start. She blinked her eyes in annoyance at the bright light shining through her window. She rubbed her eyes and after a moment, her vision become clear in front of her. Sitting on the edge of her bed, green eyes twinkling and grinning like a Cheshire cat was her older brother Bryn. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Bryn?" she asked him confused. "What are you doing here?" she inquired with a yawn. Her brother rolled his eyes.

"I came to surprise you!" he announced, hugging her around the shoulders. Still to groggy to really work her muscles, she accepted his hug without reacting. He pulled away. "I was supposed to be here last night, but I had to deal with some things at work…" he trailed off. "You could be more excited to see me," Bryn said with eyebrows raised in false irritation. Clare shoved him lightly, blinking her half-open eyes in annoyance as the sun shone.

"C'mon, you know I'm not a morning person…" she paused, shading here eyes from the sun with her hand. "And will you close those god damn blinds?" she groaned. Bryn laughed, ignoring her request. He smacked her lightly on the thigh.

"C'mon, Luney, It's nearly 7:30." Clare's eyes went wide. She tried to shove Bryn off the bed, but he wouldn't move. He laughed at her. "What's the rush?" he mocked. Clare loved her older brother, but god, could he be annoying.

"Bryn," she whined, dragging out his name. She eventually pushed him off of the bed and got up. She shot a look at the clock. It was 7:24. "Geez, I have to be at school in thirty minutes!" she cried in an aggravated tone. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?!" she exclaimed as she started to pull possible clothing choices out of her closet.

Bryn shrugged. "Maybe I just like to see you squirm, Lune," he said with a chuckle as Clare rushed around her room trying to gather everything she needed.

Clare stopped mid-way through her search to push him out of the room. "God, what is it with you guys and the stupid nicknames," she said with a sigh. "Look, it's great to see you, Bro. We'll talk after school!" She called after him as she pushed him out of the room and shut the door on him. She could hear him laugh from the other side. She rolled her eyes. He seemed to be thinking the same thing she was: that talk after school would never happen.

There seemed to be an unspoken tradition in the Lane family that no one could talk seriously about anything ever. No one in their family was ever willing to discuss the things that needed to be discussed. She supposed it was her parents' fault. They had never liked confrontation. Usually, each member of their family liked to keep their issues to themselves and wait for them to eventually disappear. Clare was sure this instance would be no different. That was why Bryn was there, because of what had happened. And maybe it was a good excuse for him to see his little sister after spending 5 months in Silicon Valley, but that didn't mean that any of them would act like something was out of the ordinary. They all would go about their business as if Bryn was visiting to surprise Clare, as if Clare had returned to Beacon Hills because she wanted to, as if her dad hadn't come with her because he was still working in Philadelphia. Because that was how their family functioned. That was how they remained sane. Or at least, that was their attempt at it.

Clare had wanted to take a shower that morning, but with 15 minutes left before the bell would ring, Clare just didn't have the time. She'd never hear the end of it if she were late for her first day. So she piled on the deodorant and the leave-in conditioner and threw on a chevron-striped sweater, a pair of dark-wash jeans, a watch, and some lace-up brown boots. She had braided her hair into a messy side braid before she grabbed her keys off her dresser and rushed downstairs.

Bryn and her mother were in the kitchen. Bryn was seated at the bar with a cup of coffee in his hands. Her mother was cooking away. They chatted softly about something that Clare couldn't make out. Clare looked at her watch. She had 9 minutes to get to school. That wasn't including the 2 minutes it would take her to get to 1st period. God, she didn't even remember what class that was. She would have to pass on breakfast. She yelled goodbye to her brother and her mother and was out the door before she had a chance to hear their reply. As the door shut behind her, Clare was met with a burst of cool air. She rushed down the frosty steps and slipped into her car in record time. Seat belt clicked in and engine started, Clare sped to school like the devil was chasing her down.

When she finally arrived at school, she had 5 minutes to get to class. Of course, Clare was forced to park in the very last parking space in the lot. She growled lightly as she bumped the curb with her careless parking, but ripped off her seat belt and cut the engine as fast as humanely possible. Across her body was her purse, which she reached into as she walked briskly across the parking lot. She retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from it. As she flattened out the sheet, she took a glance at her watch. 4 minutes left. Her eyes darted across the sheet as she attempted to pay attention to where she was going. _Period 1: World History, Mr. Clarke, RM 44_. Clare started to panic. 3 minutes to go and she had not a clue where that room was. Her eyes searched the campus. She was about twenty feet from the entrance when she noticed a familiar looking boy climbing the steps. She wondered where his other half was momentarily before she realized the real problem at hand here was getting to school on time. "Stiles!" she called out in relief. She rushed up to him as he flinched at the sound of his name. He spun around to see who had called his name. He spotted Clare running up to him after a moment and smiled wide.

"Clarebear!" he yelled back, spreading his arms out to her. She would scold him later for using her embarrassing kid nickname in front of a bunch of people, but she had bigger problems. She just shook her head at him as she approached him.

"Stiles, I need to get to World History, and I don't know where the hell the classroom is," she explained, a bit breathless thanks too her run and the chilly air. He smiled at her and patted her on the back.

"Im headed there too. Let's go," Stiles said, warmly and smugly at the same time. Clare smiled gratefully at him as he led her to their her world history classroom.

It turned out that Scott and Lydia also had World History 1st period. As Stiles led her into the classroom just before the bell rang, Clare gave a quiet hello to Scott. He seemed surprised, but pleased to see her. There wasn't much time for explanation as their teacher, Mr. Clarke, started rambling about the Industrial Era. Clare probably should have paid attention to what he was saying, but she was busy trying to remember old faces. She recognized many of them. She recognized Lydia, of course, and there were a few other familiar faces. She found herself searching for Isaac's face among the sea of old classmates, but then she remembered what Stiles had told her. Isaac was a fugitive and fugitives don't go to high school.

Scott and Stiles seemed to be in deep conversation throughout the entire class, except when Mr. Clarke would stare at the pair calmly until they stopped talking. Mr. Clarke's teaching methods were rather terrifying. The man would just stare at you blankly until you were the only one who had yet to notice. Clare hoped Mr. Clarke would never look at her like that. This didn't seem to faze Scott and Stiles. They continued to talk only minutes after they had gotten a stare down from Mr. Clarke. Clare tried to stop herself from becoming too curious as to what they were discussing. It wasn't working very well.

When the bell rang, they were still in deep conversation. It wasn't until Scott pulled away from Stiles and rushed towards a tall brunette that Clare became visible again. She guessed that this was the infamous Allison Stiles had spoken of. She was disappointed Scott hadn't continued to welcome her, but she guessed he must have had other things on his mind. That was okay; Clare would see him at lunch.

Stiles only had to take a few steps to reach his locker. Clare followed him there, not really knowing what else to do, not having a locker of her own yet. It wasn't like she needed one. She didn't have any books yet. She leaned against the locker next to his. "So…" she began, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "You and Scott sure had something to talk about this morning," Clare said in a casual tone. She obviously had not been successful at containing her curiosity. Stiles visibly tensed. He didn't speak for a moment, obviously trying to busy himself by pretending to search through his locker.

"I-umm, well we, you know–" the clear ringing of his cell phone saved Stiles. It was obvious he had tried not to sigh in relief, but it seemed inevitable. Stiles smiled innocently at her before answering it, holding up a finger to signal they would get back to their conversation in a moment. "Hi," Stiles said into the phone. Clare watched his face as he listened to the speaker on the other line. "Mmhmm," he said after a moment. What was odd was that after a moment Stiles raised his head to look at her. Clare lifted an eyebrow. Stiles looked up at her once more before hanging up.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly. "What do you have next, Clare?" he asked, his words coming out labored. Clare's eyebrow remained risen in suspicion. Now she hadn't seen Stiles in five years, but it didn't take a genius to see that he was hiding something. Clare pulled out her class sheet, but before she could read it off to him, he strained his neck to read it himself. "Ok, Econ, English, chemistry, French, and PE," he read off in a mumble. He sounded relived as he read it. "And then…you're taking home ec, really?" Stiles asked incredulously. Clare shrugged. "Sorry, Clarebear, we've only got history together," Stiles said, though he didn't sound all that sorry. Clare wished she knew why. He started to leave. "Find me at lunch!" he said, turning back to look at her. He turned away again to leave. He was shaking his hand up and down in contemplation as he walked away. With a sigh he turned around. "And Clare," he started, his face turning pensive. "If you happen to see, you know, anyone from middle school, I'd just be, you know…cautious," he nodded at her decisively before scurrying away. Clare watched him leave, eyebrows now raised to their limit. She shook her head in disbelief and sighed as she lifted herself off of the lockers. It was really unnerving how much Stiles hadn't changed. Clare followed Stiles' lead and walked to her own class, which was Econ. She just hoped she would be able to find it this time.

Stiles, who was nearly sprinting down the halls to get to English, was extremely anxious to inform Scott of what he had discovered. He was a little surprised that his dad had called to inform him of the news, being that Mr. Stilinski usually at least attempted to keep his meddlesome son out of police business. Nevertheless, Stiles skidded into the English classroom and into the desk behind Scott. "I just talked to my dad, who just talked to Jackson, and I've got really terrible horrible very bad news," Stiles said in a rushed, hushed tone to Scott.

Scott sighed and gesturing with his hand he said, "I think I already know." Stiles looked in the direction of Scott's hand and noticed a very discernible head of light brown curls seated in front of them. Stiles' face fell. He could see the smirk forming on Isaac's face, knowing that the two had been discussing him. The tall werewolf turned in his chair.

"Scott," Isaac said with a nod of faux politeness. Scott smiled sarcastically. "Stiles," Isaac said, offering Stiles the same ironic courtesy.

Stiles rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair with an irritated sigh. "Always a pleasure, Isaac," Stiles muttered, refusing to look at him. Isaac chuckled.

"It's nice to see you when you're not trembling on the ground in fear," Isaac quipped with a presumptuous smirk on his face Stiles would have loved to rip off. Stiles knew what Isaac was referring to: his little full moon escapade at the sheriff station. Though, as Stiles recalled, Isaac was cowering quite proficiently himself after Derek released his Alpha-wrath upon him.

"Ha," Stiles breathed, glaring daggers into Isaac's skull. "Yeah, next time I'll definitely reconsider saving your ungrateful little werewolf ass," Stiles whispered spitefully. By this point, Isaac had turned back around and class had begun, but he had obviously made his point.

Stiles was still glaring at Isaac when Scott turned back to look at him. "When did Clare come back?" Scott whispered to Stiles.

Isaac's ears had picked up a single word: _"Clare."_ He hadn't been paying attention to their conversation so he didn't know exactly what the context was, but Isaac was shocked to hear them say her name. Her hadn't heard that name in years. He started to wonder why she had been brought up. He assumed that he wasn't the only one she had never contacted, but he started to ponder if perhaps she had only let their friendship fall by the wayside. Thinking about how Clare had abandoned him only fueled his anger. She was just another person he wasn't good enough for. He shifted in his seat. He didn't like to be reminded of times when he was weak. He didn't have to worry about weakness anymore. He didn't have to feel helpless anymore. Isaac didn't listen to their conversation any longer. He didn't have to waste his time with losers like Stiles and Scott, or Clare for that matter.

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know exactly, she came to my place Sunday," Stiles said as he furiously wrote down the notes on the chalkboard. "I can't imagine she was thrilled that you barely acknowledged her," Stiles pointed out, shrugging lightly as he continued to copy down notes. "I'm assuming you're going to want these later," Stiles added, gesturing to his notes with his pencil. Scott pursed his lips.

"Yeah I know, I wanted to talk to her, but Allison called me over and–" Scott began, but stiles interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know…" Stiles interjected. He stopped writing suddenly and looked up at Scott. "There's something weird with her," he blurted. Stiles shook his pencil at Scott in thought. "It's like she hiding something," Stiles shrugged and continued writing. Scott sighed.

"Yeah, add it to our list of problems," he grumbled. "And I am gonna need those notes," Scott added with an innocent smile. Stiles only sighed.

* * *

Clare experienced quite the interesting period with Coach Finstock. She found it interesting how he was an Economics teacher, a PE teacher, and the lacrosse coach all at the same time. At her school in Philadelphia, that never would have happened. They had like three different teachers for each subject. Clare thought it was kid of nice, well, unless you weren't fond of Finstock's teaching methods. It seemed all of the teachers at Beacon Hills High School had questionable teaching methods. She was glad that she hadn't arrived at school any sooner, otherwise she probably would have had to take the mid-term Coach Finstock was raving about all period. The period actually flew by rather fast despite the fact that she didn't know anyone in her class. Coach Finstock's insults were actually quite entertaining. She imagined that kids who fell victim to his jokes didn't feel the same, but _most_ of them were harmless.

English and chemistry went by even quicker. The only downside was she had to return to all her classes during lunch to get her books and assignments. Being that she missed lunch, she went straight to French with Ms. Morell, then to PE with Coach Finstock again. She was having trouble concentrating, thankfully there wasn't a lot of concentration needed to play a couple games of four on four. But there was so much on her mind. Even putting aside the past two weeks, there still was that weird creature to contemplate on. Thanks to this, she really hadn't paid much attention in any of her classes. She didn't really feel like she needed to. Sophomore year was almost over, and frankly, she had bigger issues on her hands.

One of these bigger issues that she was dealing with was the fact that she hadn't eaten all day since she hadn't had the time between running late and meeting with her teachers. However, her highest priority was the bathroom at that current moment. There was only about five minutes left until the final bell would ring, but Clare didn't want to wait any longer. She had asked to go to the bathroom, and when the permission was granted she grabbed her things in case the bell rang before she was done.

The hallways were pretty empty when she exited her home ec classroom. She wasn't exactly sure where the bathroom was so it took her some time to find it. She finished in the bathroom pretty quickly, washing her hands before checking her face in the mirror. She sighed, still stuck on those damn freckles. She had never liked them, and she doubted she ever would. As she observed herself in the mirror, she heard a faint sound coming from the opposite wall. She scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. It sounded like someone was ripping through metal. It was an unpleasant sound and it aroused Clare's famous curiosity. She threw her purse over her shoulder and exited the bathroom. Clare looked down both ends of the hall. It was completely empty. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She took a few careful steps toward the north wing. Just was she was about to make a sharp turn around the corner, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, hard, surprisingly nice smelling something. She let out an "Umph," and stepped back involuntarily. After her vision registered she saw very clearly what the object was that she had just run into. It was none other than Isaac Lahey himself and he wasn't alone. And they seemed as shocked to see her as she was to see them.

The three of them stood there for a moment just staring at each other in shock. Clare was less focused on a very transformed Erica, and more on the incredibly tall, grown-up, _leather-jacket-wearing_ Isaac.

"Clare," Isaac breathed, staring at the short blonde with wide eyes. Earlier when he had thought that it wouldn't matter if he saw her again, he hadn't really figured that seeing her again was an option. In fact, now that the moment had arrived and he was staring at the girl who had been his only friend for his entire childhood, he felt all the reasons why she mattered to him all at once. He saw her and he was a little kid again; playing tag in the backyard; racing across the pool; playing with superhero action figures. He was calm and quiet and carefree. He found it remarkable how seeing her only once reminded him of who he once was.

But then he remembered how she left him alone just before his life started to fall apart. He remembered how his brother died and how his dad had died with him. He remembered that god-awful freezer, a true representation of his life after Clare and before the Bite: helpless, pathetic, and solitary. It was indeed a pathetic excuse for a life. That's what she left behind–just her pathetic friend Isaac who really didn't matter at all.

But Isaac couldn't linger on her; he had to kill Lydia for Derek. His pack needed him; something that Erica reminded him of.

Erica grabbed hold of Isaac's arm and tugged, staring blankly at Clare. "Isaac, let's go," She urged. Isaac moved with her pull, staring at Clare as he left. But the thing–or rather _things_–that Clare couldn't stop staring at were the long claws protruding from Isaac's fingers.

It became very clear to Clare that Isaac was a different person than the little boy she had left behind five years before. As the pair disappeared down the hallway, the bell had rung. Clare was desperate to find Stiles. Clare had put together all the pieces and now it all made sense. Well most of it anyway. This was why Stiles had been skeptical the day before when Clare had guaranteed his innocence. Maybe that was what him and Scott were talking about that morning and why Stiles had looked at her oddly when he was on the phone. Stiles must have known what had happened to Isaac. But Clare still had so many questions. How long had Isaac been this way? Who changed him? And how did Stiles know? She was afraid of the answers, but she so desperately wanted them.

Clare walked very purposefully down the hall until, by chance, she caught the sound waves of Stiles' voice. She turned on her heel and saw three familiar people, along with a fourth stranger, striding down the hall. Clare rushed in the opposite direction to catch up with them. She quickly fell into stride next to Stiles, who was trying to keep up with the other three. She smiled at the three as they gazed at her curiously. Stiles shot a sideways glance at Clare before sighing. She had that look on her face. Stiles knew this look fairly well. It was the look she wore when she had questions and Stiles, more than anyone, was very aware of how far she would go to get answers. Her toothless smile, sickeningly sweet, said it all. Stiles breathed nervously through his nose as he followed the group, Jackson dragging Lydia along, and the girl she suposed to be Allision was following close behind them. "You know I don't like that face, Clare," Stiles said as they walked, rubbing his temples. Her face hadn't shifted when he looked at her once more.

"What are you up to Stiles?" Clare asked quite innocently. But Stiles knew better. It was amazing how neither of them had changed drastically enough during the past five years for them to grow apart even a little. It was as if Clare had never left. She only wished things were that simple with Isaac. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her.

"Studying," he replied reluctantly as the two of them exited the building right behind the other three. Clare's face lit up.

"Oh good, I'll come with," she said in a tone that Stiles could not deny. She further helped her case as she strolled ahead of him. Quickly, Stiles jumped in front of Clare stopping her abruptly. He put his hand out to stop her.

"No," Stiles said firmly. The absolutely last thing Stiles needed was to get Clare involved in all of this. He didn't have the time to worry about her getting hurt. "Clare," Stiles began clamly. "You need to go home and relax and do anything besdies study with us," Stiles persuaded. He knew this wouldn't end well for him, but he just couldn't risk Clare getting cuaght in the crossfire. He esepcially didn't want her to see Isaac going on a murderous rampage.

Clare narrowed her eyes at him. She had never been very fond of the word 'no'. She was less offended and more annoyed that Stiles didn't want her to come with them. She assumed that something werewolf related was going on and Stiles was trying to protect her. Which was great, if she was the type that liked to be protected. "But, Stiles-" she attempted to protest.

"No, Clare," Stiles said, holding her by her shoulders at arms length. He sighed as he turned back to look at his car and the three teenagers that were already seated in it. He groweled in frustration. "Clare, listen, I've got to go, but please, _please,_ just go home," Stiles pleaded. Clare sighed. This seemed important to him. She nodded in reluctant agreement. Stiles smield in relief and let go of her. He started to back away slowly. "Thank you," he said, before sprinting off to his car.

"Dear God," Stiles whispered as he jumped into the driver's seat and hit his head against the steering wheel a few times. He suddenly turned to look at the three teenagers seated in his car, pursing his lips at all of them. "You see these?!" Stiles demanded gesturing to his forehead in an exaggerated circular motion. "I'm not old enough to have stress wrinkles like this!" Stiles bellowed. The three teenagers stared blankly at him. Stiles sighed and turned away from them. "it's your fault," Stiles grumbled.

Jackson rolled his eyes and shouted, "Stilinkski! Just drive!" And so Stiles started his car and drove away.

Clare, who was still standing on the edge of the sidewalk, crossed her arms. _Like hell I'm just going to go home, _she thought, as she grabbed her keys and headed to her car. She had a feeling that she knew where Stiles and the others were headed. Stiles wouldn't bring werewolf business home with him and he definitely wouldn't bring it to Jackson's, Lydia's, or Allison's homes. This could only mean one thing. Stiles was headed to Scott's and Clare would be right behind him. She just hoped this werewolf business didn't involve Isaac. In fact, as she pulled out of her parking spot and headed to Scott's, she silently willed that she had just imagined the claws growing out of Isaac's fingers.

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A/N: Clare obviously has a curiousity -cough- nosy -cough- problem.

You guys know the drill. Thank you so much again for your wonderful comments. You guys are all beautiful.

Thought I'd give you a heads up, I'm going to start switching things up in terms of chronology next chapter. You really won't be able to follow along episode by episode, so don't expect that.

Much love!

-Dani


	4. Taunting

A/N: So I've watched "Venomous" like 7 times now. I could probably recite every single line word for word. I don't have much to tell you guys today besides that I love you and your reviews are so sweet. Honestly, it makes my day to see them. One quick thing: I honestly can't tell if there are stairs somewhere in Scott's house. His bedroom _appears_ to be on the second floor, but I don't have a clue, so for our purposes, whether it's true or not, let's just pretend Scott's bedroom is on the second floor.

You guys are **literally** the best readers ever.

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Clare had arrived at Scott's house about twenty minutes after the others had. Not surprisingly, Clare got lost on the way there. She couldn't remember exactly where it had been, but when she found it, she was more than relieved to Stiles' Jeep parked out front. She had always considered the possibility that they were going somewhere else to study, but she was glad her hunch was right. Clare parked behind the light blue Jeep and headed up the sidewalk to Scott's front door.

As Clare was walking up, Stiles and Allison were staring out the front windows keeping a look out for Derek and his pack. Stiles had turned away for a moment to see if he had missed any calls from Scott. He was starting to wonder where he was. "Stiles," Allison said suddenly, her voice inquisitive. "Who's that?" Allison asked, pointing out the window. Allison squinted at the short blonde girl slowly approaching. She had seen her before in the hallway, but there was something eerily familiar about her. Allison wished she knew where she had seen her before. Stiles looked up at her and then looked out his window, disappointed to see Clare heading towards the front door.

"God dammit, Clare," Stiles muttered in frustration as he gazed out the window at her. She had caught his stare as she walked up the steps of Scott's house. Stiles was glaring at her profusely. Clare stuck her tongue out at him. His eyes narrowed.

Clare broke their stare as she knocked loudly on the door. "Stiles!" she called in a sing-song voice. She continued knocking on the door. "Stiles!" she called again. "C'mon, let me in!" Clare listened to see if he was opening the door, but he wasn't. Clare furrowed her eyebrows. She probably deserved this treatment, considering Stiles had specifically instructed her to do absolutely anything but follow them there. She stopped pleading and just started knocking continuously. Maybe she could annoy him into opening the door.

"No, bad Clare!" Stiles scolded from the window. Stiles stood from the window and rubbed his face with his left hand in frustration. "Why doesn't anyone ever listen to Stiles?" he asked Allison as Clare continued to knock on the door. It was more of a rhetorical question, but Allison shrugged in response. "You know, if everyone would just pull their heads out of the their asses and listen to Stiles things would be a lot less complicated!" Stiles exclaimed, loud enough for Clare to hear from the opposite side of the door. She sighed. She knew Stiles would be mad at her if she showed up there, but she was willing to risk that if it meant she could help out her friends. They were the only friends she had in this town and if she lost them, she didn't know what she would do.

"Look, Stiles," Clare began, leaning against the door, exhausted from knocking. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, but I just-" she sighed again. She didn't want to tell him she knew at least part of what was going on, because if she told him then she would have to explain this entire mess and that involved crying and drama and she just didn't want to deal with it. She wanted to push it away until it disappeared like she always did. But it seemed this was the only way she would get him to open the door. "Stiles, I know, okay?" she finally said. The opposite side of the door was silent. "I know about werewolves and hunters and other scaly monsters that are running around in this town and I just want to help protect my friends from it all," Clare blurted out. She listened to see if Stiles was going to respond. He didn't say anything but she heard a few clicks and movements behind the door. She pushed herself off of the door and a moment later it swung open.

Stiles ushered her in quickly. He looked very reluctant, but Clare was glad he let her inside. He closed the door behind her and re-bolted everything, sticking a chair underneath the handle. Clare turned to Allison as Stiles did this and smiled lightly. "I'm Clare Lane, by the way," Clare said, offering her hand to Allison. Clare eyed the girl's crossbow curiously, but Allison didn't seem to notice. The girl returned her smile and shook her hand.

"Allison Argent," she said before returning to looking out the window. Clare understood the crossbow now. Allison was a hunter. Well, at least a descendant of one.

Stiles smiled spitefully. "Great! Now that we're all acquainted let's get caught up," Stiles said, irritation in his tone as he turned to Clare. "First thing, you're a dumbass," Stiles said flatly. Clare shrugged. She couldn't disagree. "Second thing, how do you know about werewolves?" Stiles asked her. Clare rolled her eyes and didn't answer him, instead she asked him a question of her own.

"How about you tell me when exactly you were planning on telling me that Isaac was a werewolf? Did you just _accidentally_ leave out that tiny detail when we were talking yesterday?" Clare asked in a very accusing tone. Her arms were crossed as she stared at him expectantly.

"I can't just run around crying werewolf everywhere!" Stiles protested, his hands up in defense. "We all know that story did not end well for the boy," Stiles added pointing at her sharply as if to signal that she most definitely knew the end of that story. "Wait, how did you find out?" Stiles asked, copying her stance by crossing his own arms. Clare blinked at him a few times.

"We go to school together, It was kind of inevitable that I would see him," Clare explained. "Not to mention, he wasn't exactly ashamed of it," Clare remembered how he hadn't even bothered to put away the claws for her. Clare was pretty sure that it wasn't that difficult for them to retract their claws.

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles said, putting his hands out as if to abruptly end that conversation. "Third thing, you know about the kanima?" Stiles inquired. Clare looked at him skeptically.

"Do you come up with a cute little nickname for everything you encounter?" Clare asked with a smirk. Stiles didn't even bother to respond as he stared at her in disappointed disbelief. Clare chuckled before continuing. "And if you mean the scaly reptilian thing that attacked me in my basement last night, then yeah," Clare answered, still annoyed by that whole endeavor. It had definitely scared her, but it wasn't exactly convenient for her to be paralyzed on the basement floor for an extended period of time.

"Well you're alive so it didn't kill you..." Stiles trailed off in deep thought. "Could it have killed you?" Stiles asked suddenly. Clare's face must have shown signs that she wasn't exactly sure what he was talking about because he clarified. "Like if it wanted to it could have?" he asked, trying to be more specific. Clare squinted at him.

"You've seen this thing right? Huge, razor-sharp teeth? Long, pointy talons? I'm pretty sure I'd be dead right now if it wanted me dead," Clare explained, lifting her eyebrows at him. He tilted his head in understanding, biting his lip lightly. It looked like he was about to ask her another question when Allison suddenly called his name.

"Stiles! They're here," she informed as she peered out the window.

Stiles sighed. "We're going to talk more about this later," Stiles warned, pointing at her as if to make his statement resonate with her. Clare rolled her eyes. God, she hoped he would just let the whole thing go. Stiles turned around and looked through the window. "Crap..." Stiles muttered. "Where is Scott?" Stiles took another look at his phone. Clare then moved to see through the window that Stiles had been looking through, pushing him aside lightly. As she peered through the window she saw four figures. Two of them she recognized, the others she didn't. She was disappointed to see that Isaac was among them.

A few minutes had passed. Neither the pack outside nor the humans inside seemed to want to make a move. It was still light outside. Maybe that was why they hadn't done anything yet. Clare spoke after a few minutes of silence. "So Stiles, I know that we're kind of under a crunch now that there is apparently a pack of werewolves taunting us out there, but do you want to explain to me exactly what is happening?" Clare whispered as her and Stiles shared a window. Stiles slowly turned to look at her, a look of sarcastic confusion on his face. Clare licked her lips awkwardly and sunk back a little.

"Really? You want and explanation _now?_" Stiles sounded utterly astonished. Clare didn't respond. She pursed her lips and looked around the room nervously. Stiles shook his head at her. "You wanna know what's happening, Clare? Your little werewolf friend over there," Stiles jabbed his index finger harshly into the glass, obviously talking about Isaac, "is coming to kill the love of my life, who is doing God knows what with another guy in Scott's bedroom, because Derek Hale thinks she's a monster." Clare shoot a disapproving sideways glance at him as she tried not to react to the name Hale. Stiles would only ask her more questions if he saw signs on her face that that name meant something to her. Now that she looked at Derek, she recognized him. She hadn't seen him in a long time, but that was definitely him. He was most definitely the alpha of that pack, which must have meant he was the one who had bitten Isaac. _That little shit_, Clare thought, glaring at the older alpha.

"What an idiot..." Clare muttered in response to Stiles' explanation and Isaac's current position outside of the house. Stiles scoffed in agreement. Clare knew that she didn't really have a right to be mad at him after what she had done and all that he had been through, but she couldn't help it. There was her best friend, a smug smile on his face, arms crossed, eyes intent on finishing off Lydia. The only thing about this Isaac that Clare recognized was his loyalty. Isaac had always been loyal to his friends; clearly, sometimes to a fault. Clare blamed herself. If only she had been there. Maybe she could have stopped it. Happy people didn't willingly give themselves up to a life of running from hunters and uncontrollable killing of innocent people. Maybe had Clare been there, she could have kept Isaac happy enough to believe in his humanity, despite its weaknesses and its faults. Maybe she could have changed that for him. But now it was too late. Clare wondered what Isaac was thinking as he stood out there waiting for his alpha to give him the signal. Did he know she was there? Did she matter to him anymore?

"Stiles, give me your phone," Allison instructed, Stiles complied and tossed it to her. "I'm calling Scott," she announced before walking off.

There was silence between Stiles and Clare as Allison left, though the feeling in the air was that something needed to be said. Clare had moved away from the window and was sitting in a chair she had brought over from the McCall's dining room. Stiles, who was still staring out the window at the menacing werewolf pack, suddenly turned around and sat cross-legged as he faced her. "You know you can tell me stuff," Stiles reminded her, his face absent of his normal wit. Clare was a little taken aback. She hadn't expected that Stiles would be bothered by her secretive behavior. Clare didn't say anything, but nodded. If she were being honest, she thought it probably would have been nice to vomit up all her secrets and just leave them out in the open air. Maybe she could breathe for a little if she did that. But then again, she was pretty comfortable keeping everything to herself. If she shared it she would have to face it, and that wasn't a very comfortable idea. She liked being comfortable.

Stiles nodded, swishing his lips around as if he wasn't totally satisfied with her reply. He turned back around as Allison reappeared into the room, looking out the window once more. Stiles pulled back the curtain and observed the four of them. Isaac was fidgeting. Erica was checking her nails. Boyd was swaying back and forth. They were growing bored. They didn't have much time left. Allison seemed to notice this too. She sighed. "I-I think I need to call my dad," She said suddenly, grabbing her phone. Clare had never heard anyone sound more conflicted. Stiles looked at her in concern.

"But if he finds you here then you and Scott-" He started from where he stood at the opposite window. Allison nodded.

"I know," she replied still looking down at her phone in contemplation. "But they're," Allison looked out the window to the pack, "not here to _scare _us," Allison sounded nervous. "They're here to _kill_ Lydia," she finished with a sigh. Stiles sighed as well, rubbing his temples.

"I know," Stiles said with a nod. Both had looked away from the window, seemingly thinking of what to do. Clare stood from her chair and came to the window. Looking out of it, she saw that there was only two figures standing outside. Clare's eyes widened. She hit Stiles in the shoulder without looking away. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. "What?!" Stiles asked as he poked his head to look out the window. He gulped. "Where the hell are Isaac and Boyd?!" Stiles exclaimed, his eyes also widening. "Shit, shit, _shit,_" he muttered as Clare backed away.

"I'm going to go check upstairs," Clare said as she turned to walk up the stairs to make sure Isaac or Boyd hadn't gotten to Jackson and Lydia. But Stiles grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

"Are you _insane_?! You can't just walk up there! They'll kill you!" Stiles said in a panic. "At least take a knife or something!" He suggested quickly. Clare shot him a momentary glare and pushed his hand off her shoulder.

"I'm not going to stab Isaac!" she exclaimed as she turned back to walk up the stairs. Stiles tried to stop her again, but he didn't want to leave Allison alone either. He growled in frustration, but stayed behind with Allison. Stiles was sure Isaac wouldn't hurt her, so he hoped it was Isaac she would come across and not Boyd.

Clare took quick steps up the staircase, leaving Stiles and Allison on the first floor. When she reached the top of the steps it was fairly dark. A faint blue light seeped in from the curtained window at the end of the hall. It was silent. Clare took slow steps across the hardwood floor, the soles of her boots clicking slightly. After a few minutes she was standing in front of Scott's bedroom door. She put her ear against it as quietly as she could. She could hear the muffled voices of Lydia and Jackson. They were discussing some video. Clare sighed in relief as she removed her ear from the door. They were still alive. She was about to check the other doors to see if one of Derek's pack members was lurking in them when she heard a crash downstairs. Clare's eyes widened. Not a moment later did Isaac appear at the top of the steps, his eyes glowing yellow. Clare took a few steps backward, inching closer to Scott's bedroom door. Isaac approached her quickly as more glass shattered downstairs. That must have been Boyd.

Isaac was standing a few feet in front of her when he spoke. "Move," his voice was low and deadly serious. Clare would be lying if she said she wasn't slightly afraid of him in that moment. She was breathing heavily through her nose, unable to keep herself from looking at his glowing yellow eyes. Maybe she should have grabbed that knife.

As Isaac continued to approach her Clare was backing up. She had finally backed up as far as she could, her back against Scott's door. Isaac was staring at her, standing less than a foot away. "Move," he repeated, his claws growing slowly out of his fingers. He looked down at her with his teeth bared. Clare shut her eyes and turned her face from him. It was too much to see him like this.

"I can't," she whispered, eyes still shut, standing firm in front of Scott's door. If Isaac wanted to kill Lydia, he would have to kill her too. Clare wanted to believe that he wouldn't do it. She wanted to believe that all those years so long ago that they were attached at the hip hadn't been obliterated from his memory. She felt tears on her bottom eyelids. _God dammit, _she thought spitefully. She **would not **cry in front of him, not now. She had to be strong. She had to protect Lydia. It wasn't even like Clare loved the girl. But she felt like she needed to protect her. Lydia didn't deserve to die. Stiles thought she was innocent, and Clare believed him. Clare would do whatever she could to keep her alive, even if that meant dying by the hand of her former best friend. And with that realization, there it went, a small saltwater tear slid down her freckled cheek. Never in her most horrific nightmares had she ever imagined this.

Isaac blinked away his yellow eyes. He saw it, her fear. He heard the rapid beating of her heart. He saw the small tear slip out of her eye. His mouth hung agape for a moment. _He _had done that to her. He took a step back and looked down in shame. He couldn't believe he had done that to her. His claws were disappearing; fangs retracting. He rubbed his jaw in frustration. He _needed_ to kill Lydia. His pack expected that of him. But he _couldn't_ kill Clare. He physically couldn't harm her. Clare didn't want him to kill Lydia. But he had to. He was so confused. Why did she have to come back? Things were so much simpler when she wasn't involved.

After a moment of thought, Isaac finally decided on something. Just as he decided, Clare had started to wonder what was happening. She peeked through tear filled eyes and saw him approaching her, looking like an actual human being again. She turned her head to face him as he grabbed her by the waist with his extraordinarily large hands. Her heart must have completely stopped as she stared at him with her wide teary eyes. He had stepped closer to her, their faces only six inches apart as they looked at each other. For a moment Clare had thought he was going to kiss her. But instead Isaac lifted her off the ground effortlessly and threw her over his shoulder. Clare gasped. She began hitting his back with her fists. "Isaac!" she screamed. "Isaac! Put me down!" she continued. She tried to kick her legs, but his grasp was firm on them. He didn't even flinch at her hits. He was walking somewhere, but she couldn't tell where. After a moment, Isaac switched his hold on her, his right arm supporting her back and his left under her bent knees. Clare sat shocked in his arms for a moment before she realized what was happening. They were standing at the threshold of a dark closet. Isaac's nerves gently rose at the vision of the small, dark closet. Knowing that Clare wasn't afraid of small spaces like he was and not wanting her to get hurt in the mix, he felt like the closet was the safest place for her. Isaac heard Allison's steps coming up the stars, knowing he had to set Clare down quickly.

Clare's eyes widened as she saw the closet and she began hitting him in the chest. "Isaac, no-" she said calmly as he brought her further into the closet. He set her down gently and in a flash of great speed the door was shut on her. She heard something break on the opposite side. _That bastard broke off the handle!_ Clare thought in a rage. She stood up, rushed to the door, and aggressively tried to turn the handle. "I will end you, Lahey!" she threatened as she banged her fists into the door. After what seemed like hours of trying to open the door, she gave up. She leaned her back against the door and slid down. She rested her head against it and closed her eyes. Even as she sat there, irate about what had just happened, she couldn't stop herself from thinking this wasn't a bad alternative to dying. She just hoped Isaac wasn't about to kill Lydia now that she was out of the way.

Allison had begun to climb the stairs as she heard Clare's cries. When she reached the top she saw Isaac standing near the closet. Allison aimed her crossbow at him as he slowly looked towards her. He didn't move as she pulled the trigger and an arrow went flying into his shoulder. He cried out as the wolfsbane laced arrow hit him. Holding his wound, his eyes narrowed at Allison, but he didn't make another move against her. Allison, though slightly confused, took this as an opportunity to disable him in his weak state. Approaching him quickly, Allison grabbed a vase from a side table in the hallway and hit him over the head with it, successfully knocking him out as the hard ceramic collided with the curls on his head. Isaac dropped to the ground. Allison, though suspicious of how easy it was to incapacitate the beta werewolf, moved into Scott's bedroom to find Lydia. As Allison closed the door behind her she turned towards the open window and saw that familiar clear liquid dripping onto the window pane. Allison's eyes widened. "Stiles! It's here!" She shouted, her bow aimed at the open window.

Meanwhile, Stiles was downstairs trying to hold off Boyd. Erica had disappeared up the stairs, probably to kill Lydia if Isaac hadn't already. Stiles couldn't even think about idea of Lydia dying. Boyd was growling at him as the two of them stood in the McCall kitchen, only the granite island standing between them. Stiles held a butcher knife in his hand as Boyd stood across from him, fangs bared. Just as it looked like Boyd would pounce and close the gap between them, Scott appeared behind Boyd and began beating the actual pulp out of him. Stiles' eyes were lost in the array of claws, fangs, and sideburns, but somehow, Scott had managed to knock Boyd out. Scott nodded at Stiles before dashing off. Stiles let out a long breath and replaced the butcher knife in it's holder. "I totally had that under control!" Stiles called after Scott disappeared.

Scott saw Isaac when he reached the top of the steps. But what he smelled was what was alarming. Scott lifted his head and sniffed the air. "Clare?" Scott said in a mumble. He noticed the door handle missing from the closet was in Isaac's hand. Scott bent down, pried it out of Isaac's hand and stepped over him. Putting the bent handle into the door he turned it and opened the door. Clare came tumbling out of the closet. She looked up at Scott from where she laid on the floor. She beamed at him as she began to stand.

"Thank you!" She cried as she dusted herself off. "That idiot," she said as she glared at the limp Isaac on the ground, "locked me in your closet." Scott laughed at her. He started to walk away to get a paralyzed Erica who was lying on his bedroom floor. Clare watched Scott pick up Erica and Isaac and take them down the steps. She wasn't really concerned about Isaac. He would be fine; werewolves healed. Plus, she wasn't really in the right state of mind to feel sorry for him. She followed Scott closely down the steps and saw Stiles appear out of the kitchen not far behind her. They smiled sadly at each other. Scott opened the door and one by one threw Derek's pack onto the lawn. She, Stiles, and Allison appeared in the doorway behind him as the four of them stared Derek down. Erica and Isaac remained unmoving as the four of them stood there, but Boyd was beginning to stir and soon he was standing next to Derek.

"I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott. You're not an omega, you're already an alpha of your own pack," Derek offered with a smile. "But you know you can't beat me," he said as his smiled widened. Sirens sounded in the distance.

"I can hold you off until the cops get here," Scott replied. Derek's smile faltered. After a moment of contemplation, he turned to Boyd.

"Let's get them out of here," he muttered, reaching for Isaac as Boyd did the same for Erica. Boyd and Derek had the two limp bodies over their shoulders when a loud hiss was heard on Scott's roof. Scott and his "pack" moved from under the porch to look up and to see the kanima come into view. It roared at them before leaping off the roof and running off. Scott knew immediately he had to go after it, but Derek, having heard the sirens drawing nearer decided to leave the kanima alone for the night. After all, he couldn't kill it if he was locked in a cell and it sure would be a lot harder to move around smoothly while he was a person of interest in a murder and a convicted robber. Before Derek disappeared into the darkness, he took at look at Clare and smirked. "Glad to see you're back," he chimed and then disappeared with Boyd. The entire group looked directly at Clare, their eyes all wide and inquisitive.

Before they could start shooting questions at her, Lydia came storming out of Scott's home. "Will someone _please _tell me what the **hell** is going on?!" Lydia demanded as Scott's eyes widened.

"It's Jackson," Scott whispered. Not a second later were Scott and Stiles running towards Stiles' car to follow the kanima. Stiles turned to Clare before jumping into the car.

"We **will **talk about this later," Stiles warned before getting into the car and riding off to catch the Kanima with Scott. Clare sighed and wiped her face with her palm. God, how she _hated _Derek Hale.

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A/N: You guys are amazing.

That is all.

-Dani


	5. Unnerving

A/N: People play around with the phrase "fandomx has ruined my life," but teen wolf has actually ruined my life. Like, when I'm not writing this story, I'm doing research for this story. When I'm not doing research, I'm re-watching Teen Wolf. When I'm not re-watching Teen Wolf, I'm endlessly reblogging Teen Wolf on Tumblr. So Teen Wolf has taken over my life. Isaac Lahey is officially one of those life ruiners. It's kind of exhausting and not healthy, but idk. It's summer so it's ok.

You guys all left really great comments for chapter 4 and I want you to know that I always read them and take into account what you think. ScaryDonut2002 called it that Gerard would be a great addition to our lovely cast and he makes his first, but definitely not his last, appearance in this chapter. He'll be a very important part of this story just as he was in the plotline for season 2. In response to Isaac fan, I definitely thought about that when I was writing the scene, but I was dumb and decided that I didn't need to voice my reasoning for Isaac putting her in the closet. So thank you for proving that I needed to make Isaac's reasoning clear. I went back and added a few sentences so that would make more sense. Thanks for the support guys! I love you all~

P.S._Changing the rating to M because I like the word fuck and I can't restrain myself. I will probably say it a lot now. And who knows, maybe this story will get smutty? Actually, probably not because it would be the most painful sex scene to read ever. I've never written smut before but idk, there's a first time for everything. Don't get your hopes up though._

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It had been only a few moments after Stiles and Scott had left that Allison and Lydia approached Clare. Allison was obviously trying to calm Lydia down, despite the fact that it wasn't working very well. Clare didn't want to just leave them there. She felt really awkward about the whole thing. She stood there, wrapping her arms around herself in the cold. She wanted to get home, so she was glad when Allison and Lydia came up. Allison looked melancholy as she asked, "can we get a ride with you?"

Clare nodded. "Yeah, of course," she said, leading them to her car.

The car ride was long and tense. The girls only spoke to each other to give directions. Lydia seemed to be pretty upset that no one would explain to her what was going on. Clare didn't blame Allison for not telling her. She probably wouldn't have either.

As Clare pulled up to Lydia's house, Lydia quickly got out of the car, without so much as a thank you. Clare rolled her eyes. Allison followed her out. They talked for a few minutes. Lydia stormed away soon after, and that was when Allison returned to the car. She sat down and sighed as she shut the door. Allison gave Clare a small smile. Clare returned it before starting the car and driving off once more.

"Everything alright?" Clare asked Allison after a few minutes of silence. Clare liked her so far. She had spunk. Clare liked a girl with spunk. Allison nodded after moment.

"Yeah, Lydia's just freaking out right now," Allison said with a shrug. Clare nodded. A few moments later Allison blurted, "Thanks for helping us tonight, you were really brave." Clare laughed and waved it off.

"What with Isaac?" She scoffed. "He's just a puppy of a werewolf," Clare said with a smirk. She hadn't actually thought that when he was baring his fangs in her face, but she wasn't about to disclose a moment of weakness to someone she had just met.

Allison shrugged. "It's just, I know Lydia can be a pain, but I know she appreciated you helping keep her alive," Allison explained, the same small smile on her face. Clare nodded and smiled lightly.

"Yeah," she responded quietly. She remembered that moment when she had felt so strongly about protecting Lydia and was glad that Allison reminded her that her efforts were worth it. This brought up another question in Clare's mind. "Can I ask you something?" Clare asked. She had always hated when people said that to her. She thought it was the most redundant thing in the world, and there she was, asking it, being her hypocritical self.

"Sure," Allison responded as she turned her face to look at her. "Turn right up here," she added quickly before Clare could speak.

Clare struggled a bit with asking Allison her next question. She sighed and pushed against the steering wheel as she turned into Allison's driveway. She parked the car, but left the engine running. She finally started to ask. "You shot Isaac, right?" Clare asked turning toward her slightly. Allison nodded, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. "Do you think-" Clare stopped, trying to word the question correctly. "Was he going to kill Lydia? Like if you hadn't stopped him, would he have killed her?" Clare asked as she looked anywhere but at Allison. It was another answer she was desperate for but so afraid of. She didn't want Isaac to be a murderer. She wanted him to be that "puppy of a werewolf" she had talked about earlier.

Allison seemed to think for a moment. She looked pensive when Clare stole a glance at the brunette. "I don't know," Allison began. "He was really easy to take out," she continued sounding thoughtful. "It was like he was letting me knock him out. Almost like he wanted me to," she finished looking over at Clare. Clare nodded slowly, staring off into space.

A moment later there was a tap on Allison's window. Both girls jumped. Clare looked over to see a smiling old man in the view of the window. Allison rolled down her window. "Hi," she said with a tentative smile. Clare looked at Allison carefully. It seemed that Allison was not completely comfortable with the man. "Umm, Clare, this is Gerard," Allison said as she cleared her throat. "my grandpa," she finished, almost coughing out her relation to Gerard. "This is my friend Clare Lane," Allison introduced as Clare waved shyly.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?" He asked in a tone Clare couldn't quite place. "I know your mother, young lady," he said, an unfaltering smile on his face. "Great chef," he added. Clare nodded at him a small, nervous smile on her face. Something about this man made her really, very nervous.

"Yes, she is," Clare agreed. God, she wished Allison would get out of the car. Her Grandfather seemed perfectly normal, but something about him just gave Clare the creeps.

"Well," Allison said after a few awkward seconds. "I better go," she opened the car door and got out. "Thanks for the ride, Clare," Allison thanked with a smile.

Clare nodded, returning her smile. "Any time," Clare said before rolling up the window and driving away. She shivered slightly. That had to be one of the awkwardest moments of her entire life. Clare glanced at the digital clock on her dash. It read 8:04. Clare's eyes widened slightly. Her mother was probably extremely worried about her. Clare was surprised the cops weren't chasing her down. That was when she realized that the cops had showed up to Scott's house after all of them had left. Clare thought about Stiles and how much trouble he would be in if his dad found out he was involved. Of course, since it was Scott's house, Clare was sure that Stiles would be questioned when he got home later that night.

As Clare pulled up to her home, she saw that both her mother's and her brother's cars were in the driveway. She was not looking forward to the Lane family bonding that was to come. Clare reluctantly parked her car and got out, locking it as she started her climb up the front porch. She opened the door to see her mother sitting on the couch watching TV. She didn't see Bryn immediately, but she soon saw he was rummaging in the lower cabinets in the kitchen.

Nina immediately stood as she saw her daughter enter the home. She walked over to Clare and hugged her tightly. Clare assumed she was doing this because she was about to get chewed out. Nina pulled back and looked very sternly at her daughter. H_ere it comes,_ Clare thought full of dread. "Clarice Lane," Nina began, "where exactly have you been since three o'clock?" Clare had to really force herself not to roll her eyes. Her mother was the definition of a parental cliché.

"I was studying with Stiles and Scott and a couple other friends," Clare lied with ease. Unlike her mother, Clare didn't have a problem lying to people. In fact, that was one of her main defense mechanisms. She probably would have had to resort to more drastic measures without it.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. "Clare," she said in a warning tone. While others would have easily looked past Clare's smooth lie, her mother knew her far better than others. Clare, of course, hadn't intended their relationship to be like that, but Clare found she could never hide anything from her mother, even if she wanted to.

Clare sighed and did, in fact, roll her eyes. "Fine, mom," Clare started. "We weren't exactly studying the whole time, but that doesn't make up for you not telling me about Scott and Isaac," Clare accused her mother. That was another defense mechanism. "I know you heard about them," Clare asserted, crossing her arms. Nina sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Clare, I didn't want you to worry after all that had happened," Nina tried to explain, but it seemed Clare was intent on not letting her get away with hiding the truth from her. "That doesn't change the fact that you spent your evening doing god knows what with your friends until 8:30 at night," she argued. Clare bit her lip to stop herself from protesting. "Look, Clare, I know Scott and Isaac are your friends but," Nina paused and looked down for a moment, almost reluctant to continue, "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to see them anymore," she finished putting a hand out to Clare. Clare shied away from her touch, glaring lightly at the ground.

"Fine," Clare said, looking up at her mom angrily. She didn't say anything else before she stormed up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door.

It wasn't so much the actual fact that her mother didn't want her to see her, well, friend–she had no idea what her and Isaac were anymore, and it honestly gave her a headache to think about it– but it was more the principal of the thing. Clare only had about three friends in this whole town and now she couldn't see one of them anymore thanks to her overprotective mother. God, Clare wished her family was normal. If her family was normal her mom wouldn't give two shits about Scott and Isaac because she would have no clue what they were.

Clare moved to sit on her bed and let herself fall onto it. She was rather emotionally exhausted from that night. It hadn't exactly been without stress. Especially now that she officially couldn't see Scott and Isaac anymore. Of course, she wasn't sure she wanted to see Isaac again after he had locked her in a closet, but she definitely wanted to see Scott again. It wasn't like she would listen to her mother. Clare had always intended to ignore her mother's wishes the second she had said it, but it was obnoxious that she now had to go sneaking around with them.

Mid-tantrum, Clare heard a knock on her door. She lifted her head slightly, but didn't respond. Whoever it was opened the door anyways. When Clare saw that it was Bryn standing in the doorway she sat up, now a little embarrassed by how she was acting. She rubbed her opposite arm with her right hand and smiled at him lightly. He smiled lightly back. He took this as permission to come in. He closed the door and joined her on the edge of the bed.

"You really need to get a cell phone," Bryn said with a comforting grin. Clare laughed, shaking her head lightly at him. He always knew what to say. _How did he always know exactly what to say?_ Clare thought in disbelief. If only she were that articulate.

"Tell me about it," she replied with a gentle grin. Her older brother swung an arm around his little sister. He squeezed her lightly.

"You know she means well," Bryn reminded her. Clare nodded at him. Of course she knew that. Her mother always had good intentions. "She was pretty worried about you," he told her. "You know she's going to be worse right now because-"

Clare interrupted him. "Because of dad?" she asked quietly. Bryn seemed surprised that Clare was breaking their tradition, but he nodded. Clare nodded back and leaned her head against her older brother. She didn't want to pretend it hadn't happened in that moment. She just wanted to remember that it was real and that was why they were all there together and that was okay. "I miss him," Clare admitted into his chest.

"Me too, Lune" Bryn said with a sigh as he squeezed her again.

This time there were no tears, no dramatic sobs. Clare just sat there with her brother remembering her dad. He had been a strong man. He was tall. His hair was blonde and lightly curled. His eyes were brown. He had an overwhelming amount of freckles. His laugh was overpowering and contagious. He had wrinkles around his mouth and his eyes. He loved his family more than anything in the whole world.

They sat there for a while, but soon Clare ushered Bryn out so she could shower, something she had wanted desperately since that morning. She hugged him on his way out. "We should do something sometime," Bryn suggested. "Just to hang you, you and me," he finished with a smile.

Clare nodded. "Stiles has a lacrosse game Friday. We could go to that," Clare offered. Bryn nodded with a smile. He shoved her lightly on the shoulder with a smirk before walking out of her room. Clare rolled her eyes playfully and shut the door. She quickly stripped of her clothes throwing them carelessly into the hamper. She walked into her bathroom and turned on the shower water, undoing her hair as she waited for it to get warm.

She stepped in when steam was pouring over the top of the light green shower curtain. She let the water wash over her freckled skin. It was the most enjoyable feeling she had experienced all day. She went immediately to business dumping shampoo onto her scalp. She scrubbed and then washed it out, putting the conditioner in next. She faced the shower head as she let the conditioner sit, washing herself with a bar of soap as she waited. She silently scrubbed, the only sound in the bathroom was the water colliding with the porcelain tub. She used to sing in the shower like an idiot. She didn't anymore.

She was out of the shower in twenty minutes and was in bed ten minutes after that. Her pajamas were an old t-shirt and sweats that night. She closed her eyes and tried not to think. She closed her eyes and attempted to turn off her mind. But she thought of her dad and Isaac and her mother and she couldn't stop the thoughts. They rushed at her all at once like an ocean wave. She laid there for what seemed like hours before her mind started to quiet and she slipped into sleep. For once in a long time the sleep was soundless, dreamless, and guilt-free.

* * *

The next morning when Clare arrived in world history–and she was proud to say that there were a good 30 seconds before the bell rang when she arrived–Scott and Stiles were nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, when she strolled into the classroom and gazed around for a seat, the only three were at the top and in the last row, right behind Isaac Lahey. He hadn't been in her class the day before, but that must have been because he had come to school late. Clare momentarily pictured him whipping out his wolf claws and scaring people off from sitting behind him. She shook the thought from her head and seated herself reluctantly behind Isaac. She hated sitting at the front more than she hated Isaac.

Clare had planned on ignoring what her mother had asked of her the night before, but she hadn't planned on acting on those rebellions so soon. She didn't know what to say to Isaac, or if she should even say _anything _to him. Something had to be said; they couldn't just pretend that everything in the past had never happened. Clare, having absolutely no idea how to rekindle their relationship, decided that sarcasm was always a good place to begin when making friends. "You really know how to make a girl feel welcome, Lahey," Clare said in a hushed tone about 15 minutes after the bell rang. "I have to say, being locked in a closet pretty much tops every other welcome I got yesterday, so thanks for that," she finished, pursing her lips even though he couldn't see. She saw him shift in his seat. She immediately worried that this was a bad idea and that she should just go hide in Philadelphia and never come back.

But then he answered her. "What was that?" he said in a sarcastic tone of his own. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of my 11-year-old self being abandoned by his best friend," Isaac said flatly. She deserved that. Clare could almost hear the ironic smile as he whispered it to her. Her lip twitched upward. As much as she didn't like that Isaac had changed, she had always enjoyed a person with a little snark.

Despite the fact that Clare realized Isaac was a werewolf now and he had incredible healing powers, it was still a little shocking to see him sitting there, good as new. She couldn't see his face, but the differences were in the appearance that she could see. His brown curls would always be constant, but he was wearing a dark green canvas jacket, dark-wash jeans, and similarly colored dark combat boots. It was definitely odd seeing him looking like this when his clothing used to be much closer to Stiles' sense of style. Clare decided to retort back using this angle. "Well if I had known you were literally going to turn into Derek Hale in my absence, I would have just stayed in Philly and avoided seeing the aftermath," Clare replied after Mr. Clarke had turned his back to write on the chalkboard.

Isaac licked his lips. He wasn't sure what she was trying to accomplish with this conversation. He didn't know where this was going and he didn't think she knew either. He thought this summed up their relationship quite well. He wished he could describe to her the hell he had gone through those five years she had been gone. If she had known she would have understood that when Derek had approached him and offered him an out to the that hell he _had_ to take it. He _had_ to save himself. Because she couldn't save him from wherever she had been. Camden couldn't save him and neither could his mom. Everyone that had ever cared about him was gone and he didn't have any options left. The bite was the only option he had left.

His curiosity had finally gotten to him and he was tired of this pointless banter. "Why did you leave, Clare?" He whispered back at her after a minute. He felt like he deserved to know, but also like he _needed _to know. He was done waltzing around her like they were strangers. Just because he didn't want to talk about his issues didn't mean she couldn't talk about hers.

The question had caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to go there quite so soon, especially while they were sitting in world history class. She bit the inside of her cheek and leaned back in her seat. She flicked a pen nervously between her fingers. "This is neither the time nor the place to have a heart to heart," Clare said through clenched teeth in order to avoid Mr. Clarke noticing that her and Isaac were conversing.

Isaac sighed deeply, "you're not running away again." It was a warning and a hope. She wouldn't run away from him or this conversation. Isaac and Clare had curiosity in common. It had driven Isaac crazy for a long time wondering what had happened to Clare. Now that she was back and he could finally know, he was a little anxious for answers.

Clare didn't respond. She had been running a lot lately. She wasn't going to admit that to him. She wasn't going to admit that to anyone. She wished that she had that person in her life that she could trust again. She didn't know that Isaac was wishing for the same thing.

* * *

Later that day during PE, she got an unexpected callslip for the principals office. Clare, though annoyed that she had to wander through the halls in her leggings and gym shirt, was grateful to get out of running the mile. It took her a little longer than expected to find the office, being that it had been several weeks since she'd been there, but eventually she found it. The secretary, with her dark red hair and cold eyes, pointed her in the direction of the waiting area. Clare turned, heading that direction, when she saw two others were already seated, waiting quietly. One was Allison. The other, was, of course, Isaac. She really had to suppress the on-coming eye roll as she sat in the only seat, in between them. Allison offered her a small smile and muttered a greeting, but Isaac didn't even acknowledge her. He must have still be annoyed by her lack of explanation. _Two can play that game,_ she thought as she deliberately turned away from him to face Allison.

"Is Lydia any better?" Clare asked Allison in a tone just above a whisper, not really interested, but she wanted Isaac to think she was. Allison seemed a little uncomfortable by the question, he eyes shifting from Clare to the secretary. Clare didn't know why she would be so she chose not to acknowledge it.

Allison nodded, "Yeah, a little. She's still pretty mad at me though." Allison seemed upset at this, which Clare understood. Even if she was trying to spite him, Clare would never be happy about Isaac being angry with her.

Clare was about to ask her another question when the door to the principal's office opened and some kid waltzed out. He told Allison it was her turn to go in before walking off. Clare, who had been looking at the kid, suddenly shot an involuntary pleading glance at Allison. It whispered _"don't leave me here alone with Isaac,_" but Allison had already stood and entered the principal's office.

Clare sighed and leaned back into the seat, clasping her hands together on her lap. She glanced over at Isaac who was repeatedly curling and uncurling his long fingers. She was surprised he still had the habit. He had always done that when he was nervous or uncomfortable or over-thinking things. She smiled lightly to herself. She loved that he hadn't lost that part of himself. She also wondered what he was thinking about.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Isaac finally spoke. "Is, uh, now a good time for you?" He didn't look at her as he said it in a flat tone that was quickly becoming a trademark.

Clare looked straight ahead as she took in a deep breath. "Sure," she said in a sarcastically sweet tone. She turned her head to face him. "Ask away!" she exclaimed. Her tone was suspiciously sincere, but her narrowed eyes gave her away.

Isaac turned his head and narrowed his own bright blue eyes at her. "I deserve to know," he replied in a deadly soft tone.

Clare's expression remained unchanged, but she tilted her head slightly to the left. "Don't pretend you're the victim here, Isaac," she warned as their unspoken staring contest continued. "You haven't exactly been forthcoming with information either," she reminded him as she cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She thought she saw his eye twitch.

Isaac looked away his hard expression softening and his own arms crossed. "I'll tell you when you tell me," he said with a shrug.

Clare's glare deepened significantly. "Real mature," she muttered. "And when's the last time the technique worked for you?" She remarked in an icy tone.

Isaac expression matched hers as he replied, "it's worked quite successfully with severely curious people, actually." Isaac cocked an eyebrow as he smirked at her. It seemed he also remembered several things about her. Clare bit the inside of her cheek as her arms remained crossed. She sighed in frustration and turned away from him. _God, that is an obnoxious expression_. She could feel his smirk widening at her reaction. He knew that not knowing was killing her and she hated it. Her curiosity would most definitely be the death of her, she decided. She tapped her fingers against her arm in annoyance. He had cornered her and he knew it. Licking her lips she turned to face him. She pursed her lips.

"Alright, Lahey. You wanna talk? Let's talk," she started without her glare wavering. "Meet me after school at my car. Don't be late or I swear I'll kick your sorry little puppy ass," She pointed at him crossly as she said it, leaning over towards him slightly. He looked slightly nervous. He thought it was ironic how such a short girl could be so very intimidating, especially when he was supposed to be the monster. Their faces were uncomfortably close again. It caused a slight awkward pause in conversation. Clare's green eyes searched his face and he seemed to do the same. She shifted under his intense gaze. This caused the two of them to slowly back away from the other, adding a considerable amount of space between them.

Isaac's expression quickly shifted to offended as the conversation picked up again after their silence. "Not a puppy," he warned, his bright blue eyes narrowed at her. She smiled and chuckled lightly. Suddenly, the door to the principal's office flew open. Both teens shifted their gaze to the open door, which Allison was currently walking through. She smiled at them, though it seemed fairly fabricated and strenuous. She looked slightly shaken up.

"You can go in, Clare," she said before walking over to the secretary's desk. Clare nodded at Allison and smiled lightly.

Clare stood from the seat and sent Isaac a final disapproving look. She reached over to ruffle his soft brown curls as if to solidate her puppy metaphor. "Stay, Isaac," she commanded in a joking tone. Isaac growled lightly in response. She only chuckled at him before entering the principal's office and closing the door behind her.

Clare couldn't help but feel slightly giddy after that conversation. Happiness was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She had missed Isaac so much. Even if that hadn't exactly been the most friendly interaction they had had, it was something. He had made her laugh. She hadn't laughed with him in so long, it was such a welcome and needed interaction. She felt for the first time that maybe, possibly they could be the best friends they once were. That was what she needed right now. She needed her best friend. That was why just a hope that she could have him again made her so happy.

But this happiness quickly faded as Clare entered the principal's office. She had forgotten to be anxious about why she had been called in. To her surprise, she recognized the old man as Allison's grandfather. Her eyes widened momentarily before she went and sat down in the chair across from him. He wore his usual sweet, but unnerving smile that made the hairs on the back of Clare's neck stand on end. He had a stack of manilla folders in front of him. Clare guessed hers was among them.

He looked up at her. "Nice to see you again, Clare," he said, thumbing through the folder on his desk. The sides of Clare's mouth only twitched upward as she nodded. "I'm sure you're curious why you're here," he paused before folding the folder over to an open page. "You're not in trouble," he assured his sickly sweet smile. "I just wanted to be sure you we settling in nicely," Gerard continued, the creases of his eyes wrinkling good-naturedly. Clare shifted in her seat. Gerard continued to talk as he read her file. "I see here that you played lacrosse at your old high school," Gerard commented. Clare nodded with a small smile. "Too bad there isn't a girls' team here," he said, looking up at her briefly.

Clare frowned. She was fairly focused on how much Gerard creeped her out, but the fact that there wasn't a girls' lacrosse team at Beacon Hills High School disappointed her enough to distract her from her wariness of him. On the East Coast lacrosse was huge. It was one of the most popular sports. She realized it had only started growing on the West Coast, but it was quite a different change from Philadelphia. In Philly that girls' lacrosse tryouts were brutal and they didn't wear pads. Of course, there was a lot less checking and tackling in girls' lacrosse, but that didn't mean that every single girl wasn't fighting to the death for a spot. Clare had been lucky that she had grown up playing with Stiles, Scott, and Isaac. If she hadn't had prior experience she never would have done so well on the team.

Gerard seemed to notice her disappointment. "You could always play on the boys' team," he suggested lightheartedly. Clare had to force herself not to glare at the old man. He had said it in an extremely condescending and demeaning way. She understood that the idea of a five-foot-tall skinny blonde girl playing with boys Isaac's size was laughable, but she could do anything she wanted to. She would prove that to anyone who thought otherwise. She technically could play on the team if she wanted to. She knew about Title IX and that because there wasn't a girls' lacrosse she had every right to play on the boys team, even if it was probably a terrible, potentially harmful, and crazy idea.

"I think I will," she replied smugly. She knew she had the right to. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she would get crushed, but in that moment she didn't care. In that moment, it sounded like a pretty damn good idea. Gerard didn't seem surprised by her reaction. It almost seemed as if he was trying to get this reaction from her.

"That's the spirit!" he replied in his gruff tone. He set her file down and smiled at her in a way that felt like he knew her as more than a student. It made her even more uncomfortable. There was a slight pause and Clare was seriously starting to wonder exactly what the point of this interaction had been.

"Well, I hope that Beacon Hills has welcomed you with open arms," Gerard said. _Not Exactly_, Clare thought, remembering that she had been attacked twice after only being in Beacon Hills for three days. She smiled and nodded lightly despite this. Gerard titled his head and continued to smile. "Wonderful," he said, sounding as if this would be his final remark on the subject. "That's all I really wanted to discuss, Miss Lane," he began. "You may send Mr. Lahey in on your way out," he instructed as Clare stood form the chair.

Clare exited the office and a weight was lifted off of her chest. She wasn't sure why she was so disturbed by Gerard, but she had other things to worry about than his general creepiness. She looked at Isaac, who was looking at her expectantly. She smiled at him awkwardly, still recovering from her bizarre interaction with the principal. Gerard Argent was an odd man. She noticed Isaac's fingers were still fidgeting and decided she wasn't the only one who was put-off by Gerard.

"Your turn," she said jabbing her thumb in the direction of the door. He nodded and returned her awkward smile. Isaac stood from the chair and pushed passed Clare to get to the door. _God, he's tall._ She severely resented him for it, especially now that she was going to play lacrosse with guys his size. _Well, shit. I'm screwed._ "See you later, Lahey," she called as she started to walk away. He didn't respond being that he had already entered Gerard's office when she had said it.

Clare looked up at the clock on her way out. There were only about fifteen minutes left in the period, which meant that the students in her PE class would be released to go change soon. Clare wanted to talk to Coach Finnstock before the period was over. She definitely needed to talk to the Coach if she wanted to join the lacrosse team. She thought that he would be pretty opposed to her joining the team, but she was determined to convince him. It took her a few minutes of fast-walking through the hallways before she exited the building and jogged towards the empty track. She saw Coach Finnstock walking toward the boys locker room and she picked up her pace. "Coach!" she called, only hoping that the eccentric lacrosse coach wouldn't be completely opposed to her proposition.

* * *

A/N: I really had to force myself not to have Clare slap Isaac's ass as he pushed passed her. I swear this story is slowly turning into crack. I should write a pure crack story...like nothing is canon and everything is crazy as fuck. It would be hilarious and ridiculous and so fun to write. xD Anyway~

Sorry if this chapter isn't up to par. :/ My muse went flop after I'd written half of this chapter so if it sucks, that would be why. This is also why it took so damn long to get this chapter out. Sorry guys.

Also, I hope none of you mind that I didn't include what was happening with Stiles, Jackson, and Scott in this chapter. I just thought that you don't want to read a transcript of the episode; I don't want to write it, because it would be really boring. You've all seen the episode and I don't need to rewrite it out for you. I'm hoping you've all seen Teen Wolf up until this point in season two. Because ohmygod, if you haven't, you need to leave my story and go watch the show, which does the plot line much better justice than I am even capable of.

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FOLLOWS AND FAVORITES AND REVIEWS! **YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!**

I...think...that's...it?

byeee~


	6. Breaking

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments, guys! It's so great to wake up to so many new comments.

One big thing today: If you know anything about girls' lacrosse or just lacrosse in general, I would love you forever if you sent me a message here or an ask on tumblr because I have never played lacrosse before. All I know about lacrosse I know because of Teen Wolf. I live in the smallest of small towns in California and we barely have a basketball team, much less a lacrosse team. I've been doing some research and I also happened to work with a lacrosse camp earlier this summer, but I still don't know a lot about the sport. For accuracy's sake, I would love to know more if any of you are willing to help me out. I can always stick to research, but it's always better to hear first hand accounts. Thanks so much!

Enjoy today's chapter!

* * *

"You're joking, right, Lane?" Coach Finstock said after Clare had said her spiel. "You _can't_ be serious!" He stared at her as if she was asking him to expel his top player. Clare had figured this would be a hard sell, but she wouldn't give up. "You can't just sit here and ask me to put a—a midget on me team. If you get hurt I'll get sued!" Clare huffed in frustration.

"I'm not a midget!" she protested. "And I can handle myself fine out there! I was the 3rd best player on my team! And a captain! As a sophomore!" The Coach let out a 'hmm' as he dipped his head to the side in thought. He sighed. That was pretty impressive.

"You can't join the team this season," Clare's face fell. He rolled his eyes and put a hand up to her. "—BUT," he paused and sighed. "I can't stop you from trying out next season," he answered reluctantly. Clare smiled at him. She felt the sudden urge to hug him. "I can't make you any promises," he warned "but if you think you can play on the team without getting yourself killed, I guess that's your decision," he looked at her with wide eyes like she was the craziest person he had ever seen. She was bouncing slightly now. She hadn't really heard much after he had told her she could tryout. "You're really weird. You know that?" He asked her as he crossed his arms. He looked at her as if she were the strangest human being he had ever met.

Clare smiled wide and started to back away to go change. "I won't let you down, Coach!" He gave her pained smile and an ironic thumbs up.

"I won't be getting my hopes up!" He said as she ran off to go change. He shook his head as he watched her leave. "The kids at this school..." he trailed off as he turned to go to the locker room, "they're all a bunch of weirdos."

Clare hadn't heard him. She was too excited. She was so excited that things were finally looking up. She really wanted to play lacrosse. Lacrosse was pretty much the only thing she was good at. It was the one thing that she was _really _good at. She could do other things like play piano and draw cartoon characters, but not like she could play lacrosse. Lacrosse was her _thing. _And she wouldn't let anyone take it away from her. She hadn't spent a good portion of her life playing just so she could stop before she was even seventeen. She would make that team in the spring or she would give up on life and become a hobo. She honestly hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Clare was in the girls' locker room peeling off her leggings when the bell rang. She cursed the timing as she continued to rip off her clothes. She left her sports bra on and threw on her jeans, mint green converse, and a navy button-up blouse before rushing out of the girls locker room. Her next and final class of the day was home ec.

Clare skidded into the classroom just in time. Her teacher, Mrs. Stone, shot her a warning look, but Clare didn't care. She knew she had made it on time. She took a seat at an empty table and sat herself down. She looked around at the pairs of girls before her and couldn't help but sigh to herself. She found it depressing how little friends she had left in this town. It wasn't like she was friends with many others besides Scott, Stiles, and Isaac, but small towns were different when it came to friendships. When you grow up in a town as small as Beacon Hills, you and your classmates form your own makeshift family. Many grow up together and most get to know each other better than they would like. It's usually a good thing. It means you'll always have a place to sit at lunch, even if it's with your best friend from freshman year that you haven't spoken to in a year. It means that you have inside jokes with people you hardly talk to. But it also means that the bond between classmates that have grown up together is nearly impenetrable. Clare had been gone for too long. She had missed too many important moments. Her classmates had moved on without her. It appeared that she had been kicked out of the family. She didn't really blame them. She hadn't exactly been the best family member to begin with.

Between Clare's musings and the muffins her class was making, the period flew by rather quickly. The muffins she made were rather tasty. She was so glad she missed the sewing section in the second quarter. Baking was much better suited to her needs. When the bell rang, Clare exited the home ec classroom with her bag and a ziplock full of her tasty blueberry muffins. She walked down the crowded hallway until she got to her locker. Pulling out the books she needed, she slammed her locker shut and headed to her car.

She was starting to get nervous about her talk with Isaac. She wasn't looking forward to explaining the last five years to him, especially because she was still unclear about some of the details herself. It was still so fresh on her mind. She had done a pretty good job hiding it, but Clare was hurting over her Dad. She could have even said it was killing her. She tried to push back the memories and the grief, but he seemed to pop into her head at any given moment. That morning when she had her mom's chocolate chips pancakes, all she could think about was how much he loved them. When she stepped outside and saw the dew collecting on the individual blades of grass it only reminded her of how much he loved to take morning walks through the misty woods. Her heart hurt thinking about it. She couldn't even bear to think about that night when she had found him and saw–

"Clare!" Her heart stopped and she jumped out of her thoughts. She blinked and realized that she was standing at the trunk of her car. She turned her head and saw the tall, lanky boy coming towards her. She smiled lightly at him and sighed. She was glad he drew her out of her thoughts. It was a place she hadn't gone very often in the past two weeks, but when she got sucked in, it usually drained her of all happiness and drive. It usually led to a lot of tears, but seeing Isaac coming at her, with that small, familiar smile on his face, made her nearly forget how much pain she had felt only a few moments before.

He stopped about a foot in front of her. He smiled lightly, his hands lingering casually in his pockets. "So, where are we headed?" he asked suddenly. Clare smiled. She didn't have to think about it for a second. He seemed to think the same thing as she watched his eyes light up.

"The park?" she asked. He nodded with his crooked smile. Clare needed to get her keys but being that she was still holding her books in her hands, she couldn't really grab them. She looked up at him. "Can you hold these for a second?" Isaac's hands flew immediately out of his pockets as he nodded. He grasped her books and she smiled gratefully at him. She pulled out her keys and popped the trunk with a click of a button. Isaac placed her books in the back and Clare shut it. A few awkward moments later and Clare and Isaac were sitting in her car. She hoped it wouldn't be like this the entire time.

Clare started the car as Isaac backed up the passenger seat to accommodate his criminally long legs. A few moments later and they were off. The drive to the park was only about ten minutes long, but the minutes were passing by slowly as they sat in silence. Clare suddenly had a thought. "Isn't there lacrosse practice after school?" she asked him. She didn't want to take him away from practice. She was a little put-off that he didn't mention it before.

Isaac shrugged. "Yeah, but i've missed like seven practices already. I doubt it would matter much if I missed one more," he answered as he played with his hands as they rested between his legs. Clare nodded slowly.

After a moment Clare asked Isaac, "Do you have a phone? I should call my mom so she doesn't freak out when I'm not home immediately." Isaac nodded and reached into his pocket. He dialed her home number. Clare smiled at him as he handed her the phone. She was slightly dumbfounded that he still remembered her number. Bryn picked up after two rings. Clare quickly explained to him her plans with Isaac and told him that she would be home by 5 at the latest. She wasn't exactly sure how long this conversation would take, but there was no need to rush things. They said their goodbyes and Clare hung up, handing the phone back to Isaac with a small smile.

The rest of the car ride was quiet and consisted of Isaac playing with his fingers and Clare licking her lips. The radio played softly in the background. Clare pulled up to the park within minutes. She and Isaac stepped out as she flung her bag over her shoulders. He lingered by the passenger side door as Clare went to grab the muffins from the trunk. She grasped the ziplock bag and shut the trunk before her and Isaac wandered into the grassy area together.

There were a few children running about on the playground as their parents stood by and watched over them. Their delighted screams and cries of laughter reminded the pair of their own adventures they had had at this park. It wasn't the most exciting park in town. It was lacking in bright colors and aesthetic appeal, but it had always been the perfect meeting place for them. It was nestled nearly in the exact midpoint between his and her house and often had been the location of their childhood shenanigans. Clare fondly remembered playing tag through the structure, jumping off the swings, rolling down the grassy hills, and watching the clouds. She wished she could be a kid again. She looked towards the occupied swings and felt a ping of nostalgia for the childhood wonder that shown on the children's faces. She felt like she had been thrust into this world of death and decay and had forgotten how to be a kid before she had the chance to finish being one.

As the two of them walked towards an empty park bench she stole a glance at the vastly taller human and was vaguely awestruck. She had missed the slow transition from little boy to near-man and it came as quite a shock to her to see him now. The lanky, skinny, awkward kid had grown into someone she nearly didn't recognize. She wanted to see him grow up. She wanted to see them all grow up. Stiles, Scott, hell—even Lydia. She wondered if any of them felt the same way.

Isaac and Clare seated themselves on a park bench facing away from the playground and towards the grassy hills. Clare, who felt subconsciously uncomfortable talking without facing him, turned her body towards his and slipped her right leg comfortably under her left thigh. She sighed and licked her top lip. "So," she trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

Isaac looked up at her. "You used to be better at asking questions," he commented with a toothless grin his eyes shining mischievously. She rolled her eyes lightly, but chuckled in spite of herself.

"Fine," She said defiantly with a crease in her brows. "Whatever you want to know," she paused and crossed her arms, "I'll tell you after you tell me what happened to you," she finished with a lift of her eyebrow.

There was a long pause. Clare shifted her body to face forward. She could see that Isaac's expression had quickly turned from playful to aggravated. His fingers tensed and his jaw locked rigidly. He ran a stiff hand through his curls. It had been such a quick transition, she didn't expect what happened next. He glared at her, his posture suddenly turning defensive. He looked down and smiled spitefully. "We're not going to play this fucking game," he asserted, surprising her. She was taken aback by his tone, but she was quick to turn defensive in response.

"I'm not playing a game, Isaac," she replied, her voice dangerously cross.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Right. Well, I'm really tired of waiting around for you to trust me," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking away.

"_Waiting around? _Are you fucking kidding me?" She asked in a tone of disbelief as her eyes narrowed at him. She gripped the bottom of the bench tightly with her fingers. "I've been back for what–three days?" She said in disgusted incredulity. "Where do you think I went first? I went to your house," she told him, her anger slowly picking up with every word. "But guess what, you weren't there. You were too busy pretending to be a big bad werewolf with the guy who was the reason I left in the first place!" she bellowed at him. She had said more than she had wanted to. Perhaps her combined hatred for Derek and frustration with Isaac had caused her to blurt it out. It had been more than she had intended to say, but she tried not to let it show on her face.

Isaac shot a glance at her. "What?" he asked in confusion. How did she know Derek? How was _he_ the reason she left? Clare looked away and glared at the ground. He scoffed, "unbelievable." He looked away from her and shook his head. "Well, if you're not willing to trust me enough to tell me what I _deserve_ to know, then I'm not going to waste my time anymore," he spat as he stood and started to walk away.

"Why do I have any reason to trust you? It's like I don't even know you," She called as she scowled at him from where she still sat on the bench.

Isaac turned back around and looked at her in utter disbelief. "I wasn't the one who left without saying goodbye, much less an explanation!" he yelled at her, pointing an accusing finger. She stood mid sentence and stalked up to him, her fists balled at her sides. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. "I used to look up to you," he went on, his words dripping with disappointment and bitterness. Her scowl softened and her mouth closed. She knew that he had. She liked that he had. She felt had like no matter how bad she fucked up or how much she embarrassed herself, she would always have Isaac. But she had lost him too.

"I used to think you were brave. But I've realized that you're just as scared as the rest of us," he said in a tone of such disenchantment that her heart seemed to physically erode. "All you do is run and there is nothing admirable about that," He continued. She felt like she was getting beaten; every word was like a slap. But she took it because he was right. He was so right. "Derek doesn't run, Clare. He fights. I used to think you were a fighter too. But I guess you were always a runner underneath it all," Isaac finished. He had just vomited up every feeling of anger and disappointment he had ever felt. It wasn't right to load it on her and he could see that she was hurt, but he didn't care. Isaac just wanted to care about himself in that moment. He needed to get that out. He was so tired of everything in his life falling apart. For a long time she had been that constancy, that one thing that kept him from going absolutely insane. And then she had left him and he slowly but surely lost everything he had ever loved. Now she was back and he still felt alone. He still felt like he had nothing. He had his pack and he had Derek, but deep inside he would always feel like he was fighting the battle solo. He could lie to himself and say that he was apart of something and that he had a home, but Derek would never feel like home to him. Clare wasn't home to him anymore. He was homeless and he was alone.

Clare had grown dejected since he had first spoken. He was right. He was right about everything. She had run away from her problems and now she was left without her father and her best friend. She didn't know her mother anymore. It seemed like Bryn was the only thing she still had, the only thing that would love her no matter what. She wrapped her arms around herself. "If you don't think there's a runner inside every fighter you're lying to yourself," she managed to mutter out, her voice shaking with anger or sadness. She couldn't say. She refused to look up at him. "You think choosing this was the brave thing to do? You think selling your soul to this curse was what a fighter would have done?" She asked. She stared at the button on his jacket to avoid his gaze. Her face was as expressionless and desolate as she felt.

"That's what you don't understand. I didn't have a choice," Isaac responded as he ran a hand through his hair once more.

"There's always a choice," she whispered as if she didn't completely want him to hear her.

Isaac averted his gaze to the ground and shook his head. "No. You wouldn't say that if you knew," he muttered, picking the dirt from underneath his fingernails.

Her features became hard again. Her grip around herself tightened. She bit the inside of her cheek and scowled. "Yeah, but I don't know," she seethed. She turned away from him, grabbed her muffins and stalked to her car. He let her go and she left him much like she had the last time—without saying goodbye.

* * *

Ten minutes later she was slamming the front door of her home. She was still upset over what had happened and it showed clearly. Her footsteps were heavy; her breaths were short. So, when Clare entered, Bryn, who had been lounging on the couch watching TV, quickly noticed his sister's mood. "You're home early," he observed tentatively, looking her up and down in suspicion. It was barely 4 o'clock. Clare ignored him. She threw her keys and her purse on the ground by the door and flew up the stairs.

Rushing into her room Clare slammed the door. She tore the clothing from her body and ripped her closet apart looking for a t-shirt. She threw on a sports bra, the t-shirt, and some leggings and grabbed her lacrosse stick from the corner before running down the stairs once more. She walked through the kitchen to the sliding glass door and ran down the porch steps. The soles of her sneakers slammed against the wooden steps in rage. She stepped onto the crunchy, brown grass and walked under the steps. There she found an old, tattered lacrosse net and a collection of lacrosse balls in similar condition. In moments the goal was set up and Clare was shooting the small balls into the goal with terrifying force. She heard the satisfying thump against the brown, wooden fence behind the goal and felt better with every shot. She shoot balls repeatedly into the net until she was out and then went to collect all of them. She shot every ball with a grunt and a scowl and the was anger sweating off of her.

Soon her muscles tensed and she felt tiny beads of sweat forming under the bangs on her forehead. She hadn't realized before, but hot, angry tears were falling onto her red cheeks. She had paused in her shooting and took a moment to just breathe. She let her arm fall limp and the lacrosse stick hit the ground. Hands on her hips she let out a few deep breaths. She bent her head back and closed her eyes. She blinked them open and her heartbeat slowed. She collapsed onto the lawn and sat cross-legged on the coarse grass. She didn't even feel the sharp, dead grass on her legs as she buried her face in her hands. She was done. That was the only word to explain how she felt. She was _done._ She was done with Isaac; she was done with werewolves; she was done with her family. She was so unbelievably done. She had reached her breaking point. She was on the verge of going completely insane.

"Hey." Clare's head shoot up at the sound of her brother's voice. He was bent against the side rail of the porch looking down at her with a concerned smile. Clare swiftly wiped the tears from her face with the end of her palm. She swallowed the bulge in her throat and smiled weakly at her older brother.

"I'm okay," she croaked.

Bryn shook his head. "No, you're not," he told her. She let out a laugh and looked down. She sniffed and gave her own head a shake.

"I'm not," she agreed as she ran a hand through her bangs.

Bryn half-smiled. "Get up," he commanded as he simultaneously lifted himself off the banister. Clare shoot him a look, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Get up!" he said again, this time with a wide smile on his face. He walked through the door and gestured with his hand that she should follow. She stood, lacrosse stick in hand and followed him up the stairs and through the door.

When she walked through the door Bryn was putting his shoes on. Clare lifted an eyebrow. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked, her voice still a little hoarse. He smiled up at her.

"_We're _going somewhere," he said as he grabbed his keys. Clare set her lacrosse stick against the wall and crossed her arms as she gazed at him suspiciously. Bryn rolled his eyes. "Come _on_," he insisted with wide eyes as he opened the door. Clare reluctantly followed him out the door and to his car. She hopped into the passenger seat as he started the car. She pulled the seatbelt across her body and clicked it in place as Bryn backed out of their driveway and drove off.

"Are you going to tell me where you're taking me?" Clare asked after a few moments of sitting in the car with him.

He smiled and shook his head. "Nope," he replied, staring at the road ahead. She scowled and crossed her arms. He laughed at her. He had always enjoyed good-naturedly torturing her more than anyone else.

They arrived at their destination about ten minutes later. Bryn parked the car in the first space in front of the Verizon shop. Clare shot him a curious look. He rolled his eyes as he put up the emergency brake. "We're getting you a cell phone," he announced before stepping out of the car. Clare followed him and ambled on behind him as they entered the store.

It only took a few minutes of looking before Bryn picked out an Iphone 4 for his sister. Clare hadn't really been paying attention. She appreciated what her brother was trying to do, but she wasn't really in the mood for phone shopping. She smiled at him as he showed the phone to her, but she slowly lost herself in her thoughts. Her attention moved away from him to the back wall, where her gaze rested as she pondered. "...It'll be great. You can put all your music on it and maybe you could get some apps and actually enjoy yourself for once..." he trailed off. He looked down at his sister who was staring blankly at the wall covered with phone accessories. He scowled lightly and shoved her with his arm. She blinked rapidly and looked up at him. He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Lune. You need to work with me here," he said as he wrapped an arm around her. She gave him a small smile. "Go pick out a case," he told her as he directed her with his arm.

Clare listened to her brother and followed her previous line of sight to the accessories wall. She spotted the case she wanted almost immediately. It was a chevron striped case with gray, white, and sky blue stripes. Standing on her tip-toes, she retrieved the case and turned to find her brother. She could see him standing at the counter, handing the box to the clerk. Clare walked over to him with the case in hand. She smiled lightly at the man behind the counter and handed him the case. He scanned it and Bryn pulled out his wallet.

Clare noticed that her brother's tactics were beginning to work. She was slowly starting to calm down and forget about what had happened. She was excited to have a cell phone again. She smiled at Bryn as he paid and grabbed the bag. "Thanks," she said as the pair exited the building. Bryn grinned at her. He quickly walked over to the car and slipped the bag inside the car before joining her on the sidewalk. "What are we doing now?" she asked, looking at him suspiciously.

Bryn grinned and answered simply, "Ice cream." This earned him a laugh from his younger sister. She shook her head at him as they began walking passed the shops to the ice cream parlor.

"But it's cold," she protested. She looked over at her brother who shrugged. She laughed again.

They walked into the ice cream shop with the sounding of a bell. The pair quickly approached the counter as there was no line. The tall, plump man behind the counter greeted them warmly as they leaned over the flavors like ten-year-olds. Clare could always be enthusiastic about ice cream. Even if it was cold outside.

A few minutes later Bryn and Clare were sitting at a table eating their ice cream. Bryn had gotten two scoops of cookies and cream in a cup and Clare had chosen two scoops of mint chocolate chip in a cup. They had been silently eating their ice cream and Clare was beginning to feel better. She was still angry and sad, but now at least it wasn't at the front of her mind. She had pushed it back and she would let it sit until she had another mental break down in her backyard.

"So I'm guessing your date with Isaac didn't go very well," Bryn said after a few minutes of silently eating. She looked up at him with an annoyed expression. He was wearing an innocent smile that Clare couldn't help but smile at. She shook her head. He knew very well that it wasn't a date, but he was being a dumb older brother and was trying to annoy her.

"My non-date with Isaac went very poorly, in case that wasn't obvious enough," she replied flatly, as she scooped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Bryn nodded, pursing his lips uncomfortably.

Bryn drummed his fingers on the table, being that his cup of ice cream was already empty. "Do you want to talk about it or—" he began before she cut him off.

"Nope," she answered simply, focusing on the emptying cup before her.

He sighed in relief, "Okay, good." She looked up at him and smiled knowingly.

"I like your attempt at being the ideal big brother there," she noted with a light smirk. He chuckled.

"I can try," he said with a playful grin and a shrug. She smiled at him and looked back down at her last bite before she scooped it into her mouth.

"You're not doing so bad," she said with a shrug.

"Yeah?" he asked with a lifted brow.

"Yeah," she answered with a small smile. She stood with her empty cup in hand and grabbed his too. She punched him playfully in the shoulder on her way to throw out the empty ice cream cups. He laughed and stood.

They walked out of the shop together, biding the shopkeeper goodbye on their way. It was getting dark outside and Clare was beginning to remember the mound of homework she had to do. She stifled a groan at the thought. She wasn't prepared to thrust herself back into school work after all she had dealt with.

As Clare and her brother drove off, Clare gazed out the window. She watched the shops slowly pass by her until they disappeared and all that remained was the thick forest. She had to sigh. It seemed like the perfect place to run to. It was quiet and peaceful and she wished that she could escape into those woods and never come out. There she was—thinking about running again. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Perhaps the only thing that stopped her from running away was the idea that it would only prove Isaac right. And she was determined to prove him wrong. She wasn't a runner. She was a fighter. She would show him. She wasn't ready to stop running, but she would if only to prove that she still had a little fight left in her.

* * *

A/N: Crappy ending is crappy. Oh well. Still love me? :3 Sorry about the typos too. I had to rush to finish this and I'll have to edit it more thoroughly later.

So update for next week: I go back to school on the 21st, but before that I'm going on vacation in Aspen from the 14th-19th. I'm going to be on the train for a total of 48+ hours so I'm hoping if my muse cooperates that I can get 2-3 chapters written. Once school starts updates will be less frequent and probably only once every two weeks. :'( Buttt I'm really enjoying writing this story so I definitely won't leave you guys hanging for very long.

Also, holy fuck 100+ follows! That is so amazing and I'm so glad that people actually like this story. Thank you guys so much for your support and love! You're all the best readers anyone could ask for!

Love you!

-Dani


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